


Seifer/Zell compilation

by elliemars



Category: Final Fantasy VIII
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-18
Updated: 2015-12-18
Packaged: 2018-05-07 09:38:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 25,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5452004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elliemars/pseuds/elliemars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just like it says on the tin - a compilation of all the Seifer/Zell drabbles, ficlets, and one-shots I've posted to the seiferzell LJ community over the years.  Covers a wide range of themes and fic lengths.  Ratings vary but overall rated Mature.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Very Slow Descent into Madness

Title: A Very Slow Descent Into Madness  
Rating: PG-13  
Pairings: Seifer/Zell  
Summary: Six times that Seifer Almasy died, and five times that he came back.  
Notes: 7/2010

 

“He’ll be back soon,” Quistis assures everyone for the seventh time, looking less and less certain as time continues to crawl by. She sits primly upright, looking very stern every time she repeats the same phrase. Her eyes are wide and she is staring resolutely at a dark spot on the opposite wall, and every few moments she reaches up to adjust her glasses, the back of her hand nudging her slightly-pink cheeks. Zell thinks he’s never seen her do such a poor job of pretending not to cry before.

Selphie is pacing around, bouncing, skipping, and twirling silently. She looks merely thoughtful, but every time her back turns Zell catches a glimpse of that perky expression sagging a little.

Rinoa is morose, staring vacantly at her knees and occasionally blurting out random statements, as though she can’t quite keep all of her thoughts in and every once in a while one slips through her lips. “Once we went to this movie, and it was so bad he threw my popcorn at the screen and we had to leave early,” she says haltingly, the revelation in segments. She twists a lock of hair around and around her finger, pulling out hairs one at a time and shaking them off onto the floor by her feet. “He was terrible at maths,” she says. “He couldn’t do it in his head.”

Zell sits twitching his foot nervously and remembering how he gloated for days the last time they fought one-on-one and he won, rubbed Seifer’s face in the dirt. How good it felt to be on top then, and how it just doesn’t feel so good now.

Finally Squall comes back into the room and announces that they've been signed on by Galbadia Garden for a mission, and Zell knows he's not the only one silently grateful for the distraction.

 

 

_Time Compression_. Zell thinks deeply about it, but he still doesn’t get what it’s about. The others are all pretty gung-ho now, en route to Esthar, but somehow Zell really doesn’t think they fully understand either. All of the past and future condensing into one moment, the entire of time and space melted into a singular entity? It sounded stupid, to say the least. But it’s not Zell’s job to think about it, it’s his job to stop it, so he doesn’t plan to muse overlong on his own theories about it. Leave that to Quistis and the rest of the brain trust; Zell would rather spend his time training up.

Everyone else is preoccupied with their own problems, so it’s easy to escape company as he spends most of his time hanging about the training center, taking out his frustration on grats and the occasional T-rexaur. Squall has gone MIA with Rinoa, although everyone seems sure he must be on his way to Esthar, so that’s where Garden is headed. Quistis is entirely busy with heading that up, and spends most of her time holed up in the cockpit with Cid, Edea, and Xu, no doubt discussing overly-complicated issues and arguing amongst themselves about battle plans; and Zell thinks he’d rather not get in the middle of that. He hasn’t seen much of Selphie - she was no doubt immersed in trying to convince everybody that she was as cheerful as she always was, or at least, had always been before Trabia Garden was leveled. Irvine, undoubtedly, was three steps behind her as always.

Zell pushes further into the overgrown depths of the training center, towards where the bigger, more dangerous beasts hide, not that he isn’t more than a match for anything in there nowadays. Hadn’t he taken down a sorceress _and_ her knight, _twice_? And that wasn’t counting all the times he’d sparred with Seifer long before any of them knew the horror of a real war. Well, okay, he’s probably lost just as many bouts with the other boy as he’s won, but only because Seifer always fights dirty; sneak magic behind his back, dirt in the eyes and all, not to mention the taunts. Perhaps Seifer’s best talent is his ability to provoke anyone, anywhere, at any time.

_Was_ , Zell corrects himself mentally. He still finds it hard trying to think of someone who had, just a few weeks ago, been an everyday part of Zell’s life, in the past tense. Zell realizes as he fights his way through the jungle terrain that there’s a part of him that’s still expecting Sefer to come slinking out from between the trees even now, to goad him into a brawl like he’s done so many times, before he thinks dismally that even if Seifer were alive, there’s still no way he’ll ever be let back through Balamb Garden’s gates again, now or at any point in the future, now things have gone too far. If Galbadia wins the war, Seifer will be the hero who died to protect his sorceress; and if they lose, he’ll be just another casualty. Neither option seems particularly appealing to Zell, and he stomps and kicks his way angrily through the dank, humid greenery.

_Though he did come back from the dead once before_ , he thinks suddenly, and a twinge that feels not unlike hope flashes through his chest for a brief moment. There is a sudden movement to the left, and Zell leaps forward, lashing out, and he feels his strike connect with the waxy, fibrous flesh of grat belly, and he is more relieved than he would admit even to himself that it feels nothing like the memory that seems seared into his brain of knuckles cracking on high, proud cheekbones and smiling green eyes tenderly ringed purple, even though Zell was going easy.

 

 

Selphie is flitting around the room chipperly as she makes plans, taking down names, doling out tasks like making punch and finger sandwiches and hanging coiled lengths of pastel crepe paper across the Quad for decoration. Zell himself is supposed to be sticking little cut-outs of paper in the shapes of flowers and stars onto the invitations with glitter glue, but his “finished” pile is only two or three envelopes higher than it was an hour ago, when Selphie last came to check on him and chide his lack of enthusiasm for the task. Rinoa and Cid are standing a dozen or so feet away from where Zell’s sitting, trying to discreetly scoot close enough to hear what they’re talking about, although he’s pretty sure he already knows.

“We’ve still got people out searching, but there’s been no news as of yet,” Cid remarks very quietly, and Zell watches Rinoa’s expression droop out of the corner of his eye. She nods understandingly, and Zell looks sullenly back down at his lap, sighing as he relinquishes his grip on the tube in his hand and grabs a spare bit of scrap paper to wipe off his blue glitter glue-covered fingers. There are footsteps nearby and he looks up to find Quistis taking a seat on the floor beside him.

“How come Selphie’s not got you working?” he asks her after a silent moment. “She’s bullied the rest of us into this silly project of hers.”

Quistis smiles and shrugs, and they both watch from a distance as Selphie strong-arms Xu and a few SeeDs with her into gluing strips of paper into a brightly-colored paper chain, smiling sweetly as she hops off oblivious to the glares shot coldly in her direction from the group after she is gone. “And Squall,” Zell adds, squeezing little blobs of glue onto the corners of a new envelope and dotting yellow and pink stars over it. “I notice he’s not suffering here with us.”

“I’ve no idea where he is, but he was smart to have got out of here while he had the chance,” Quistis says softly.

“Yeah, the bastard,” Zell curses under his breath, and his companion laughs, but he thinks it sounds a little fragile. They’re quiet again for a minute or two, and Quistis absently takes a stack of plain envelopes from him and begins drawing glittery squiggles around the edges.

“They haven’t found Seifer yet,” she says after a while, staring not at the card she is distractedly squeezing oozing blobs of glue onto, but somewhere into the distance.

“Yeah,” Zell replies.

“He must have been in the Time Compressed world with us,” she says next, thoughtfully. Zell says nothing. He wants terribly to forget everything but it’s imprinted on his memory, the dark emptiness, a small black hole in the back of his mind. “I keep thinking,” she begins again, trailing off.

“That’ll get you,” he murmurs, but she doesn’t hear.

“We were all trying so hard to bring each other through, thinking about each other, but I didn’t think about him,” she continues. Zell wants to run away from the conversation but he can’t seem to move so he sits stone still. She says, “I keep wondering if I’d just thought about him, too, maybe we could have brought him back through with us, you know? If we’d all just wished for him as much as we were wishing for each other, just a bit. Do you think?”

Zell doesn’t answer, clenching his teeth as he slides a card into its envelope with shaking hands.

“I guess it’s too late for that now,” Quistis finishes weakly. She sets down her tube of glitter glue and hands her small stack of finished invitations back to Zell, standing up and dusting sparkles and scraps of paper from her lap. She pauses, contemplative, and adds at last, “It’s just that I always wonder.”

Zell stops and puts down his card and his glue and watches her leave, not feeling any better to know that he wasn’t the only one who was wondering. Late in the night when it was dark, he wondered, and for brief, nightmarish moments he felt like he was back in that world of darkness and emptiness, calling out to the others and hearing their voices calling out to him, and never once hearing Seifer’s voice, and wishing so badly that he would.

 

 

It’s the sight of a white trenchcoat that catches Zell’s eye; Nida and the rest of Zell’s squad are already backing out of the smoldering building, and Zell can hear his second ordering cadets this way and that after stragglers. Zell follows them back slowly, feeling muted and looking around at the carnage in the dark basement, looking at the door across the room where the flash of white disappeared through, wondering if he can make it there before the fire consumes the whole building. It was supposed to be just a routine sweep; they’d heard there was some kind of illegal weapons ring going on underground, but they hadn’t expected to find a full-scale mob waiting for them down here, and when some fool let loose with Firaga, Zell knew things had gotten out of hand.

“Dincht, the ceiling’s gonna come down!” Nida shouts from behind him, but Zell doesn’t reply. Without thinking more than once about it, he sprints across the basement room, ignoring his partner’s yells, stepping deftly over bodies and burning chunks of debris. He fells the steel door to the back room with one well-aimed kick, and jumps through the doorway. The fire has spread and is creeping across the ceiling in here too; and there are several men escaping up a staircase in the corner, but Zell doesn’t care as much about catching them as he does about making it across the room and beating Seifer to a pulp before he can escape himself.

Seifer smirks, almost as if he is glad to see Zell there, and Zell can’t believe it’s been three years since he saw that smirk, and that he _misses_ it. Seifer quickly ejects a small disc from the computer he is standing at and slips it into his pocket, grinning as he shoves the machine off the desk and into the corner, where the fire quickly catches it.

“Chicken-wuss,” he says cheerfully, like they’re not standing in the middle of a burning building that’s about to collapse on top of them, like they just met on the street, like he’s actually _happy_ to meet Zell there. But that’s the only word he gets out; Zell bounds across the room in two strides and plants his fist in Seifer’s cheekbone, followed swiftly by one to the gut; but Seifer is quicker than he expected, and a sharp elbow to the sternum leaves Zell breathless and reeling backwards, the blow to the lungs on top of being in a smoke-filled room more crippling than the actual physical pain. He raises his fists again, staggering backwards, even with his best pair of gloves on feeling that he broke two fingers on that first punch, but Seifer is at the back door already, grinning even as blood trickles from the corner of his mouth and down his chin, but angrily this time. He clutches his ribcage, and Zell is sure by watching the way he moves that he broke something.

“Sorry, chicken, can’t play now,” he sneers, all snarling teeth and sharp green eyes. _How did I ever think that I_ missed _this creep?_ Zell thinks to himself. All of a sudden Nida is at his shoulder, and the other SeeD grabs him roughly by the arm and yanks him backwards the way they came.

“Leave him, the building’s coming down!” Nida screams in his ear as the ceiling creaks menacingly, but Zell doesn’t tear his eyes from Seifer as he is jerked haltingly backward, until slabs of plaster and wood begin breaking from the ceiling and raining down on them, and the last thing that Zell sees before the stairway falls in around Seifer is the other man staring at him, grinning, and it seems to Zell that his green eyes are burning far more deeply than the blaze around them.

 

 

“I haven’t seen you around here before, love,” the cute blonde tending the bar remarks sweetly to him as she fills up the pint glass for the fourth time. “From out of town, are you?”

“Yeah, I’m on holiday from Balamb,” Zell replies, though not very enthusiastically. He suspects that she’s trying to flirt with him, as she’s been doing most of the night - and if the patrons of the bar that night represented its usual clientele, it was no wonder that she would. Zell had simply picked at random from the small list of bars in Dollet that weren’t exclusively fishermen’s digs this small place, and it wasn’t much... but at least they had good beer on tap. Dollet wasn’t exactly a vacation destination, but Esthar was too weird for Zell’s tastes - all that neon lighting and pastel clothing - and he didn’t much like to hang out in Deling City for any length of time, not these days, you never knew who was going to pop up there.

“Enjoying yourself, then?” she asks him, and he looks up from his beer with a sigh.

“Yeah, it’s alright,” he replies wearily. She gives him a look, and then her expression turns sour as she realizes that he’s not going for it, and she returns to the other end of the bar where a group of men are arm-wrestling, laughing exuberantly ever time one of them slips and falls on the floor. Zell watches with a muted interest for a minute or two, and contemplates leaving.

“My goodness, what a pleasant surprise this is,” a voice, smooth and deep, whispers suddenly in his ear, and Zell catapults off his stool, his hackles instinctively raised by the voice his subconscious knows even before he can consciously comprehend who is standing next to him.

“Jeez, you just don’t stay dead, do you?” Zell breathes, as much as he can with his chest feeling as though it’s being squeezed like an empty can. Seifer quirks his head to the side and grins, and Zell feels quite strange - wait, it’s _happiness_ ; that can’t be right! Since when did the sight of Seifer inspire any kind of positive emotion?

“Terribly sorry to disappoint,” Seifer replies, flagging down the bartender and ordering a double of something dark, Zell doesn’t catch what it is; for a few moments, he’s too busy trying to work his mind around the fact that Seifer is here, alive, again, and how many times can a guy come back from the dead? He takes the stool next to Zell’s and sips his drink, and says silkily, “have a drink with me, chicken-wuss.”

Zell simply stares. Something about the situation just doesn’t seem anchored in reality. Seifer waits a few moments, still smirking, damn that smirk, Zell’s knees feel like jelly. “Not going to tell me not to call you that?” the other man teases.

“I was thinkin’ it’d be more effective just to deck you, but I was gonna wait until no one was looking,” Zell replies coolly, taking his seat again, but he glares at Seifer. “You’re a criminal. I oughta turn you in.”

“Only in Deling City,” Seifer replies easily, looking smug. “Here I’m just a plain old tourist. As are you, I’ll assume.”

“Like if I was on assignment, I’d tell you!” Zell hisses, guzzling beer in the hopes that it will cool him down, but it seems to do just the opposite; he hopes it’s too dark for Seifer to notice that he’s gone red. “And how in the hell did you survive that last time?”

“Just lucky, I guess,” Seifer says vaguely, and then he gives Zell a rather poignant look. “I mean,” he adds a second later, clearing his throat, “to think I’d run into _you_ here...”

“I wouldn’t call that luck,” Zell scoffs. “More like some kind of crap fate.”

“I guess that’s what I get for trying to be pleasant.”

“Whatever, Almasy,” the martial artist growls, draining his beer and spinning off the stool angrily. “You don’t got the right to expect me to be _nice_ to you after you’ve gone and died so many fuckin’ times. Fuck off outta my life already.”

He slaps some money down on the counter and turns to leave, resisting the powerful urge to thump Seifer a good one, but he doesn’t get more than a step away before Seifer grabs his arm and pulls him back. “Fucking get off!” Zell curses, yanking his arm away, and he snarls, “people think you’re dead, you know! People who actually, like, I don’t even understand this, they _worried_ about you, when you never turned up after the war, there were actually people who cared! I, I mean,” he stammers after a pause, as Seifer stares in silence, “not me, I mean, but other people - Rinoa-”

“I could not care less,” Seifer says shortly.

“And Quistis!” Zell barks. “She was depressed for _months_ thinking she mighta saved you from the Time Compression, and you know who was her fucking sounding board? _Me!_ And I didn’t tell nobody that I knew you were alive, I figured, hell, there’s no point to it, people were finally getting over it. All this fucking time, I’m the only one who knows you been alive!”

Zell breathes heavily after finishing, waiting for a response, and Seifer watches him inscrutably, seeming to think about one. Then he grins. “Well, we oughta be able to do something about that,” he says deviously.

Four hours and more than one bottle of whiskey later, Zell stumbles out of the bar as it closes with Seifer half a wobbly step behind him, the other man still grinning, and Zell feeling... well, not _less_ angry, but less _actively_ angry; he knows he should be giving Seifer hell for all he’s done, but somehow at that moment it seems less important than it did when he was more sober. He hobbles a few steps down the street and stops, only to have Seifer collide with him a moment later, and somehow he manages not to faceplant on the pavement with Seifer’s help.

“Bars’re all closed,” he mutters to Seifer as they try to navigate their way down the dark street.

“Not goin’ to a bar, sweetheart,” is Seifer’s reply, and lacking a response to this - probably because his brain has been thoroughly marinated in liquor for the past few hours, good lord, it was going to be rough in the morning - Zell simply follows as Seifer leads the way to wherever it is he wants to go. Seifer guides him down dark back alleys, over rubbly sets of train tracks, around chain-link fences, and perhaps, Zell has to surmise after once blinking and realizing that they were laying in a patch of long grass, through a few backyards. He seems to know where he’s going, so Zell doesn’t think overmuch about following; he just does. His vision is hazy and patchy, and his perception seems spotty, and only when he feels the ground slipping out from under his feet does it register that they’ve ended up on the beach.

Zell follows Seifer across the dingy sand and out onto an abandoned and dilapidated old pier. Seifer staggers out to where the edge of the walk slopes brokenly downward and disappears into the dark water. “What, you wanna go swimming or summin?” Zell mumbles, hanging back closer to land.

“No,” Seifer says dumbly, swaying in the wind at the end of the pier. “I heard you. That’s what I always wanted to tell you.”

“You hear me what?”

“I heard you. In the Time Compressed world,” Seifer explains, and Zell feels suddenly strangely light. “You were looking for me. I didn’t hear anyone else.”

“Yep, see, that’s where I differ from my colleagues,” Zell says back jokingly, but he feels hot. “I prefer ta save people before it’s actually too late, as opposed to jus’ regretting it for years after the fact. I’m _proactive_ , y’see,” he says cheekily. Seifer turns and walks back toward him. And when a blinding white light suddenly flashes over them, strobing across the beach, for a split second Zell can see the expression on the other man’s face, which is more serious and deep than he knows how to interpret.

“This is the Dollet County Police Department,” a mechanized voice echoes over the dunes, and Zell and Seifer throw themselves flat on the pier as the searchlight pans back and forth over their heads. “This beachfront is restricted property. Please show yourselves and allow us to escort you peacefully to the station...”

“Polite, aren’t they?” Seifer giggles, and Zell wastes a few seconds marveling over it before a thought occurs to him.

“We’re still in Galbadian territory,” he says, a chill running through him at the thought of what it meant. “If you’re caught, you’ll be executed, Seifer.”

“That is probably true,” Seifer agrees. Zell pushes himself up to stand, and is abruptly yanked back down to the ground, Seifer snarling, “what d’you think you’re doing?”

“Surrenderin’?” Zell answers with a shrug. “They ain’t gonna stop searching until they’ve found someone, and if I go out now, they won’t bother to look any more for you.”

“You can’t get arrested!” Seifer says adamantly, eyes narrowed blearily in a glare that Zell thinks he might be afraid of if he were sober, which he luckily is still very far from. He punches the other lightly in the arm, and then slumps down on his elbows, laying shoulder-to-shoulder with Seifer.

“I’m a SeeD!”

“Who’s trespassing,” Seifer reminds him sternly. “And clearly very drunk. In public. You could lose your job.”

“Yeah, and you could lose your life, mate,” Zell shoots back, meeting Seifer’s stare with just as much determination as the older man. They’re hardly inches apart now, and Zell can smell the whiskey on Seifer’s breath, his eyes gleaming every time the searchlight sweeps their way. Zell’s vision is fading gently in and out, and he can’t tell if he’s gotten closer to Seifer or not; like a moon drifting gradually toward a sun, like some kind of gravity, it just seems to be the natural way to go. He lays poised like that for several of the longest minutes of his life, not an inch away from Seifer and yet it might as well be a thousand miles for all he could do to close that tiny bit of distance.

“I been executed once before,” Seifer whispers impudently, flashing that grin - _I’ll miss it, I’ll really miss it this time, I swear it, if he goes_ , Zell thinks desperately to himself - and he jumps into a kneeling position, turning only to give Zell a mighty shove and send him tumbling over the edge of the pier into the sand dunes below just as the lights all swing around and pin him on the walkway. Zell watches from the shadows below as Seifer rises unsteadily to his feet, holding out his arms in a gesture of surrender, and two police droids swoop down the pier and converge on either side of him to escort him back across the beach.

And though Zell scours the Galbadian papers every day for weeks afterward, he finds he is never relieved by the continuing lack of news concerning the event; because he knows it’s far more than likely that the Galbadian government will keep whatever did end up happening covered up expertly, not to have to say, “well, this fugitive that we’ve all thought has been dead for years is actually still alive, but this time we really _are_ going to execute him!” That if Seifer _did_ manage to escape again would really be the only way it would make the news. And Zell likes to think that if Seifer was still out there somewhere, still alive, he’d have the decency to let Zell know one way or another, after what had happened. But that last, he knows, is just a silly fantasy - because weeks and months pass, and, one way or the other, nothing ever comes.

 

 

“You do have a talent for proving me wrong,” Zell says quietly, a warm breeze drifting off the sea and whistling saltily around them, blowing his hair this way and that. Seifer takes a few sidling steps toward him, the ends of his long black coat fluttering in the wind.

“I try my best,” he answers at last, smiling a little. Zell can’t seem to make his facial muscles work anymore and so he just stares blankly to one side of the other man. When Seifer walks up to stand beside him, Zell turns the other way, gazing out over the docks he grew up on, everything glazed in the warm orange glow of the sinking sun. “What?” Seifer says eventually. “Got nothing to say to me? There’s a first.”

“Think I said it all last time you died,” Zell says coolly.

“How many times has it been, then?”

“As far as I’m concerned, if you do it more than once that’s too many times,” Zell replies. “What are you doing here?”

“On holiday,” Seifer says cheekily, and Zell _knew_ he would miss that smirk. “And you?”

“I live here, you dink,” Zell snaps. There is silence, and he senses Seifer watching him, but for a few minutes he can’t go on. He clenches his left hand in a tight fist; his right in a weak one. It’s only been two months, and in the same timeframe, somehow, a hundred lifetimes. “I’m retired,” he says eventually.

“At 27?” Seifer muses. “Bit young.”

Zell breathes, the salty tang of the ocean air not as calming as it usually is to him. “Compulsory retirement,” he says finally, and he holds out his right hand so that Seifer can see the skin still rippled with scars, the three permanently-bent fingers, the ridges of bones that are not quite in the right place anymore. “Fractured all the bones in my hand on a mission up in Trabia,” he explains, thinking that it doesn’t get any easier to say no matter how many times he does it. “We were far up in the mountains, couldn’t get down in time to get it set right. So that was it for me.”

Seifer doesn’t say anything back right away, staring down at Zell’s crippled hand as though he’s not sure he’s seeing it right. “Sorry to hear it,” he says, shrugging casually, and Zell doesn’t want to look at him to see if he’s faking it or not. “What a shame. It’s been so long, I was hoping for a bit of a spar.”

His tone is mocking, and Zell grins wryly. “I still got one hand, which is more than enough to take you out, Almasy.”

“Are you looking for a fight?” Seifer laughs. “Because I’m always more than happy to prove you wrong about anything.”

“Nah,” is all Zell says in response. “I’m over fighting with you.”

He begins to wander up the walkway slowly, while the sun melts gradually into the western horizon, casting them in muted shades of red, purple, and finally black as the night settles in. Seifer stands unmoving in one spot, while Zell strolls absently up and down the pavement, drifting down toward the waterfront and then back up again, quiet. The docks used to be his favorite place to go to think, the smell of the ocean and the sound of the wind herding the waves to shore, but not anymore. Another line on the list of places he can’t go anymore after tonight.

“How did you escape?” Zell asks after a long while, ambling back toward Seifer in the end. “The Time Compressed world.”

Seifer thinks about the question, and sighs. “I had things to do,” he answers simply. “I couldn’t stay there.”

“Yeah, but, if you heard me,” Zell starts, hesitates for a tense moment, and continues, “calling for you, why didn’t you answer?”

It’s a few minutes more before Seifer answers him again. “I had things to do,” is all he says.

“You know, it’s like,” Zell gives a dry chuckle, folding his arms in front of his chest. “I really want to hate you, but I _can’t_ , and that sucks even _more_.” The other man is silent, and Zell stomps up to him, suddenly angry, and for the first time in years, looks Seifer right in the face. “If you’d just stayed dead the first time,” Zell says, and never finishes.

“Had things to do, Dincht,” Seifer repeats. Zell tosses a quick left jab and his knuckles skim Seifer’s jaw, but before he can step back, Seifer moves forward and snatches his right arm, holding him in place just inches away.

“What, you’re just gonna hold me here?”

“I’d actually rather not be punched in the face by you tonight,” Seifer says coolly. “As I recall, it’s not that pleasant of an experience.”

“Yeah, well, you’re holding the wrong arm, mate,” Zell sneers back. All Seifer offers in response is a smile.

“I don’t think I am,” he says, and his hand slips down Zell’s arm, and his fingers rest gently on the back of Zell’s scarred hand. “That last time,” Seifer goes on softly. “On the beach in Dollet. You could’ve stopped me going.”

“I figured you didn’t want to be stopped,” Zell replies. Seifer nods in confirmation, and Zell finds himself glad that it’s so dark out that he can’t see the other man’s expression, nor hopefully can Seifer see his. “So what now, Seifer?” he wonders at length.

“Back to yours?” Seifer offers cheekily, and Zell can’t see it but he knows Seifer’s smirking. He snatches his hand back and crosses both arms over his chest, and if he can’t actually see Seifer’s expression of disappointment he can feel that it’s there, it’s almost in the air. He hears Seifer sigh, and then remark evenly, “If you want to walk away from me, you won’t see me again.”

“Is that a threat or a promise?” Zell shoots back weakly.

“It’s just a fact,” Seifer says, and leaves it at that.

Zell hesitates, for just a moment, thinking about what it would mean to not walk away right now - and for a split second he remembers sitting on a hard, stiff-backed couch in an unfamiliar Garden, and wondering to himself why he felt so empty and dark, why it hurt so much. A question he’d already asked himself far too many times in the past ten years. A question he would certainly be asking himself again in the morning.

And an hour later, when he’s still wandering aimlessly through the dark streets of Balamb alone, he thinks about never seeing Seifer again, and it’s not as bad as it was five times before.

 


	2. 10 drabbles

A set of 10 songfic drabbles from 7/2010

 

 

 

1\. Through With You - Maroon 5 / time - 3:01 / word count - 248

“What are you doing?” Seifer asked, sitting lazily up in the bed, a sheet clinging thinly to his hips. Zell, from the other side of the room, spared him a cursory glance over his shoulder as he went on searching.

“What does it look like?” he said coolly, kicking aside piles of junk with his foot - clothes spilled from the hamper he had tripped over in the dark last night, a stack of books knocked from the shelf he had shoved the other man against, a small mountain of crushed beer cans interspersed with the occasional sticky, half-full bottle of whiskey or scotch - and he bent over slowly, his sore back screaming at him, to rescue his tee-shirt from underneath the overturned trash bin. “I’m goin’.”

“Obviously,” Seifer replied, a slight sneer gracing his otherwise smug and contented expression. He stretched his arms wide, the grayish light of dawn peeking through the gap in the curtains highlighting the purple and red rings of bruising dotted across his torso. He grinned, reaching down to the floor next to the bed. “You’ll probably be wanting these,” he said cheekily, tossing a pair of black boxer shorts across the room, and Zell went red.

“Fuck you!”

“See you tonight then?” Seifer inquired cockily.

“You sure as hell won’t!” Zell hissed, stuffing the shorts down his pocket and then storming out of the room, leaving Seifer laughing to himself; it had been a few weeks since he’d heard that line.

 

2\. Fire Cracker - Ellegarden / time - 3:15 / word count - 152

“What’s wrong with you today, Seifer? You’re usually much quicker on your feet.”

Seifer grimaced, hauling himself up from the dirt and turning the other way so the instructor wouldn’t see him clutching at his ribs. That damned martial artist had probably broken one; it would be just Seifer’s luck. He could deal with a bit of bruising, but as he twisted around there was an unpleasant grinding feeling in his chest and a fresh spark of agony, and his pained expression didn’t go unnoticed this time.

“Are you injured?” the instructor asked, looking at him suspiciously. Seifer shrugged away from the hand he held out in assistance, snatching up his gunblade from the floor and turning away.

“Nothing to worry about. A T-rexaur got the jump on me this morning,” he offered by way of explanation, giving a smirk which clearly confused the teacher. “But I’ll get him back later.”

 

3\. Roland the Headless Thompson Gunner - Warren Zevon / time - 3:49 / word count - 238

The boy was a bloody genius with that Pandemona card, there way no denying that. Seifer sighed as he handed over his last Tiamat, and Zell grinned.

“Another round?” he said, smiling happily. “I’m lookin’ to fill out my set of level 7’s,” he added cheekily.

Seifer rolled his eyes, but he cleared the table and began to shuffle through his cards again. “Whatever makes you happy,” he said sarcastically, and Zell did a cheery little sort of shuffle in his seat, tucking his newly-won card into his deck and then selecting his five favorites once more, graciously offering Seifer the first move. He rolled his eyes but placed his first card down, and waited as Zell painstakingly thought over his move. He stared with tired eyes at the back of the clock on the table across the room which he’d turned around hours ago, and at the dark curtains on the window, obscuring the outside world, and he wondered if it was morning yet - if Zell was exhausted enough to sleep without dreaming, without waking every hour sweating and gasping for breath, the sound of screaming and the smell of blood still as fresh in his head as it had been just days ago when they’d finally escaped it, crawling over the dead and destroyed bodies of their comrades to the escape boat and taking off as fast as they could, just not fast enough.

 

4\. Say Anything - X Japan / time - 8:38 / word count - 334

“What?” Seifer spat, his eyes narrowed menacingly. Zell shrugged, looking straight ahead.

“Nothing,” he muttered. Seifer nodded.

“Damn right, nothing.”

Zell bit his lip, keeping his eyes focused anywhere but at the other boy as the truck climbed its way jerkily up the side of the mountain, the eight other cadets sitting in the back with them bouncing in their seats as they ascended. He looked across the aisle and shot a deadly glare at Boris, who at least had the gall to look sheepish, though personally Zell thought he deserved a lot more than that for making him have to sit next to Seifer the whole trip. As if the gunblader on his own wasn’t enough to have to deal with, but there was also the _incident_ \- no, Zell had sworn to himself he wasn’t going to think about that.

“What are you looking at?!” Seifer hissed again, startling Zell out of his thoughts long enough to realize that he’d been staring again.

“Nothing!” he said defensively.

“Then fucking quit staring,” Seifer growled.

Zell waited until his head was turned to make a face, grumbling under his breath. Partnering with Seifer was weird enough even under the most normal of circumstances, but now - well, there was no reason to believe it was true; just a rumor. Just because Stella had told Carrie that Goran had overheard Raijin whispering to Fuujin that Seifer’s roommate had told him he’d heard Seifer moaning Zell’s name at night didn’t make it true, no, not at all. But it was weird.

“Dincht,” Seifer said warningly, and Zell jumped in his seat.

“What?”

“If I have to tell you one more time to stop watching me, we’re going to have to ship out a new martial arts specialist,” Seifer said in a quiet but deadly tone.

Zell nodded, and whined quietly in the back of his throat. This was going to be the worst field trip ever.

 

5\. The Gallow is God - The Distillers / time - 4:35 / word count - 260

As if a fractured ulna, four dislocated fingers, a bruised kidney, a split lip, and a black eye - one _hell_ of a black eye, in fact; Seifer really hadn’t lost his touch - weren’t all punishment enough, but now he was stuck in bloody detention! Seventeen words into an essay on how fighting with his fellow cadets was not permitted unless in a controlled educational situation, Zell had given up on being able to write with his crippled hand, and instead was daydreaming about how much of a pulp he was going to beat Seifer into once he was healed - and once the other boy was let out of solitary confinement, of course. Zell supposed he had gotten off easy; Seifer’d had a cracked sternum _and_ he’d hit his head hard enough to knock him out when he finally went down, and still he’d gotten worse off in the way of punishment - but as often as he liked to start fights, it wasn’t surprising that all the teachers were prejudiced against him.

Three days later, when the Cures had done their job and Seifer was let out, they met again in the dark back corner of the training center, Seifer smirking, gunblade at his waist, Zell’s fists cocked and ready. And in the early hours of the following morning, as Zell watched the other man sneak out of bed and limp out of the room back to his own dorm, he considered his revenge complete, and smiled to himself.

 

6\. Black Tangled Heart - Silverchair / time - 4:33 / word count - 372

Seifer awoke slowly, feeling groggy and knowing without even opening his eyes that it was still too early. The other side of the bed was cold, which meant that Zell was no longer in it, a fact which the rummaging sound coming from the other side of the room confirmed. Seifer didn’t stir, picturing the other man in his head; he’d be looking for something to wear - he certainly could no longer wear the shirt Seifer had ripped off him last night - maybe pulling one of Seifer’s old tee-shirts that he hardly ever wore, it’d be a bit roomy on Zell, but it was cute. Of course, he preferred Zell naked, but regrettably that wasn’t always an option.

He feigned sleep, trying to figure out just by listening what Zell was doing. Maybe getting ready to go into the kitchen and whip up some breakfast; Seifer had heard the other man was an excellent cook, although Zell had never yet graced him with the product of his supposed genius. Still, today might be the day. Seifer liked a simple breakfast; too much food didn’t sit well with him early in the morning - toast with butter and eggs, potatoes, maybe some bacon, but he didn’t think he actually had any in the place, since it was such a hassle to cook and he didn’t usually bother to himself. And some coffee, black and strong - Seifer didn’t know if Zell preferred coffee or tea, but he was pretty sure he had both, so it wasn’t a problem.

Breakfast in bed, he hadn’t had that for a very long time, and with Zell tucked at his side, what morning could be better? And naturally, after they were finished eating, a bit more of what they’d spent all of last night doing - needless to say, breakfast was not at the top of the list of things Seifer liked to have in his bed. He couldn’t think of a better way to start out the day.

But when he finally opened his eyes, he only saw Zell’s back as he sneaked out the door, the same thing he’d done every morning after spending the night. _Well, maybe tomorrow,_ Seifer thought.

 

7\. People Got a Lotta Nerve - Neko Case / time - 4:31 / word count - 215

“Why so surprised, Dincht?” Seifer breathed lowly, his expression all piercing eyes and sharp teeth as he leaned closer, pressing Zell against the wall, the foliage thick enough to hide them from the dozen or so cadets training just on the other side of the path, but Zell still peered nervously over the other man’s shoulder. Seifer laughed. “No one can see, Dincht. Trust me.”

“What do you think you’re doing?” Zell hissed, hoping he couldn’t be heard; he couldn’t be caught being pinned in a corner by Seifer Almasy, of all people, his image would be ruined! At least, that’s what Zell kept repeating to himself in his mind was the reason he didn’t want anyone stumbling into their little corner; although Seifer must have noticed that he wasn’t doing much to fight his way out of it.

“Why don’t you tell me? You’re the one who dragged me back here,” Seifer purred, and Zell flushed scarlet. Oh, yeah, he had done that - _why_ had he done that? His head felt like an overinflated balloon, and then Seifer grabbed him by the front of his shirt and yanked him into a snarling, savage kiss, and, oh, _right_ , that’s why he’d done that.

 

8\. Again - Oblivion Dust / time - 5:27 / word count - 259

“Fuck,” Zell groaned, throwing his head to the side, and his breath fogged the glass of the window he was being held against. “Ahh, Seifer. You... fuck!”

“This works a lot better for me if you shut up,” Seifer snapped, but he was grinning, his cheeks pink, face sheened with sweat, as he moved, his palm squeaking against the glass. He tightened his hold on Zell’s waist, and Zell, in turn, dug his fingernails hard into Seifer’s shoulder as the other man fucked him against the glass.

“Not in this lifetime, shithead.”

“Someday, twerp,” Seifer said breathily, his lips pressed to Zell’s damp neck, “I’m gonna make SeeD, and no amount of junctioning on earth is going to keep you from being Silenced.”

“I’d love to see you try it, Almasy,” Zell panted, but the rest of the statement was cut short by the sudden presence of Seifer’s hand between his legs, strong, rough fingers curling abruptly around his erection. Seifer grinned and squeezed, and Zell let out a series of short, breathless gasps, eyes crammed shut, his entire face screwed up in concentration. He was grimacing; he always made that face when he was about to come, but somehow Seifer had come to find it endearing.

“A gag would work just as well, I suppose.”

“If you think you can get one on me,” Zell retorted, flashing a smirk of his own, and Seifer leaned in to capture those lips in a kiss, nipping at Zell’s wet lips.

“Maybe not, but I’m sure we could have fun trying...”

 

9\. Jet Pack - Eve 6 / time - 3:33 / word count - 178

The silence was more than awkward; it was stifling, and Seifer was wondering to himself for the nth time why it had to be _now_ that Zell suddenly lost his ability to endlessly, exasperatingly chatter through any situation, _now_ , when they were stuck on a bloody rock in the middle of the ocean together, when it would be two hours minimum until Squall could get the Ragnarok out there to pick them up, _now_ , when Seifer would have given his left arm to turn Zell back into the happily nattering, infinitely obnoxious little pest he used to be.

Used to be, that is, until Seifer did something inconceivably stupid like confessing to him.

Although, admittedly, if he’d known that the way to shut Zell up for good was as simple as showing some romantic interest in the boy, he might have done it years ago, just for some peace and quiet.

Fifty feet away, Zell stood silently and stared out at the ocean; Seifer sighed, checking his watch for the thirtieth time.

 

10\. Crazy Little Thing Called Love - Queen / time - 2:43 / word count - 170

“You’re kind of a bastard, you know,” Zell said, sitting at the end of the bed and wiggling into his trousers.

Seifer grinned smugly. “Yes, I am.”

“Way too fuckin’ arrogant,” Zell went on, pausing thoughtfully as he pulled his shirt over his head.

“Perhaps.”

“You’re a good fuck, but you ain’t the best I ever had,” he added next, shoving his feet into scuffed trainers and then standing, turning around to look down at Seifer lounging on the bed, leisurely smoking a cigarette. He flashed his trademark smirk up at Zell, his face the very picture of triumph.

“And yet you keep coming back,” he remarked, his expression knowing. Zell rolled his eyes, and Seifer continued, “I suppose it doesn’t have anything to do with the fact that you love me.”

“Keep dreaming,” Zell scoffed. “You’re just lucky I’m a masochist.”

“I’ll say,” Seifer replied, leaning up as Zell walked around the side of the bed to steal a kiss. “See you tonight?”

“Count on it,” Zell answered, smiling.

 

 


	3. 26 alphabet ficlets

from 10/2010.

 

1\. adventitious (adj.) : happening or carried on according to chance rather than design or inherent nature

The iceberg came out of nowhere in the night. Luckily, only a few of the dorm rooms were flooded; and there were plenty of single-occupant rooms available to parcel out those few unfortunates whose rooms were currently submerged into... unluckily, Seifer was one of those unfortunates. Which is how he had gotten stuck trying to sleep on the most uncomfortable design of canvas and steel that anyone had ever had the sadistic grace to call a cot, silently cursing (in respective order) a series of gods, Squall, Quistis, his mother for ever having birthed him, Nida (who the hell decided it would be a good idea to try and navigate Trabian waters in the middle of the night, anyway?), icebergs in general and the rather large, pointy one that had so pleasantly woken him at 3:30 in the morning with a deluge of ice-cold water through the now non-existent wall of his dorm room in particular, and finally Zell, for thinking he was doing Seifer a favor offering up his room to share - “That way you don’t have to room with a complete stranger!” the boy had chirped; who the fuck was that cheerful at four in the morning? _Psychopaths, that’s who_ , Seifer thought bitterly to himself, closing his eyes and dreaming wistfully of roommates who didn’t snore, toss and turn endlessly on what must have been the loudest, squeakiest bed in existence, and talk to themselves in their sleep. If Zell murmured about hot dogs one more time, Seifer was going to fucking lose it.

 

2\. banter (n.) : the playful and friendly exchange of teasing remarks

Quistis looked up from her book again, glancing across the aisle to where Seifer and Zell were sitting across from each other... silent. As silent as they’d been the entire train ride so far, in glaring contrast to the night before, when they’d been sniping at each other with escalating acrimony almost until she thought she might have to intervene to prevent them jumping at each other over the dinner table. It was odd - no, it was _abnormal_ for them not to be bickering, and Quistis couldn’t suppress her curiosity any longer. She marked her page in the book and set it down on the seat, leaning across the aisle to engage Zell. He appeared to be lost in thought, staring dreamily out the window at the blurred green landscape - Seifer’s gaze was likewise focused fuzzily at some point in the distance, and that they were both so completely wrapped up in thought only made her wonder harder about just what kind of thoughts could prompt such raptness in two people who, particularly, were never engaged otherwise when around each other.

“You two are awfully quiet this morning, is something wrong?” she asked, jarring Zell out of his thoughts, and he looked owlishly over at her.

“No? Sorry, just... preoccupied, I guess,” he answered, shrugging a little. Quistis glanced over at Seifer, who gave a similar reaction, and she frowned.

“It makes a nice change from last night, I have to say. I practically had to pull you two apart from mauling each other.”

Zell looked over - was she mistaken, or did he catch Seifer’s eye for just a second? - and then he shrugged again, turning to face the window, but not quick enough to hide the wash of merest pink that coloured his cheeks - and now utterly bemused, Quistis turned to Seifer for conformation that this behavior was notably peculiar, but the gunblader was only smirking. What exactly was going on?

Zell sighed, and offered, “I guess we got it all out of our systems last night.”

 

3\. challenge (v.) : invite someone to do something that one thinks will be difficult or impossible; dare

“Give it up, Dincht,” Seifer jeered, stepping lightly back out of the martial artist’s range and swinging his gunblade nimbly at his side. “You can’t beat me with pride, you oughta know that by now. If you give it up now I’ll let you limp out of here with a little bit of your dignity left.”

“Dream on, jackass,” Zell sneered, hopping with masterful agility through the undergrowth that threatened to entangle his feet and toward Seifer, who was just steps away from backing himself into a corner, if only he didn’t look around. He threw a quick succession of punches, deliberately lagging - he didn’t want to hit Seifer, only push him back, and judging by the smirk on the other boy’s smug face, his plan to lull him into thinking he was ahead was working. Seifer swung his blade forward and Zell dodged it with ease, but the other boy was still grinning.

“You’re still a hundred years too early to beat me, chicken-wuss,” he snarled, raising his arm to swing again just as his back hit the wall; his grin faltered, and Zell leapt forward like lightning, knocking the weapon from Seifer’s grip with a swipe of his arm and delivering two precision strikes to the chest that had Seifer gasping for breath. He grabbed the front of Seifer’s coat and threw him down to the ground with a deft twist of his arm, and then stood over him smirking and resisting the urge to actually laugh aloud as the gunblader’s expression turned exceedingly sour.

“Still too early?” he trilled, extending a hand to Seifer, who ignored it, pulling himself to his feet.

“Big whoop, you got me. You’ve beat me before,” Seifer said in a thornily ungracious tone of voice. “I wouldn’t call that a particularly inventive dare.”

“Oh, _beating_ you wasn’t what they dared me to do,” Zell replied in a low tone, grinning as he stepped forward, leaned up, and pulled Seifer closer by the lapels of his coat. “That was just for fun.”

 

4\. demoralize (v.) : cause someone to lose confidence or hope

“ _Fuck_ ,” Seifer moaned - _again_ , Zell thought with annoyance; it would have almost been funny how utterly ineloquent the normally articulate man became when hungover, if he hadn’t already been circumstantially pissed off by Seifer’s simply being there - and he briefly abandoned his search for clothing to stumble into the bathroom, retching, as Zell, still feigning sleep, watched from the bed. Leave it to Irvine to spike the punch with something so toxic that Zell couldn’t even remember filling up his cup a second time, let alone how he managed the monumentally perplexing feat of ending up naked in a bed with Seifer. He didn’t have any doubts as to _what_ had happened - if his own aching back wasn’t enough of a blatant giveaway, Seifer upon waking had had the distinctly horrified expression of someone who had just remembered doing something terrible and was trying to figure out how to expunge the unsavory memory - but _why_ was something of a different matter. Of all people to get virulently drunk and have crazy, wild (Zell was assuming, as he couldn’t particularly remember himself) sex with, why Seifer? There were plenty of other eligible, attractive, less repugnant choices at that party.

Seifer came out of the bathroom, a blue silk tie hung around his neck and his shirt, a veritable canvas of liquor stains, including but not limited to what looked like red wine, the pale amber of whiskey, and the unmistakably glaring pink of that accursed punch, clasped loosely in one hand. He caught Zell’s eye for just a second, and he looked away too quickly for there to be any question about what had happened the night before. Zell didn’t say a word, only watching as the other man hastily buttoned up his shirt and practically ran out of the room, his eyes dutifully focused elsewhere. Zell sighed. Not a fighting word out of Seifer, not a single snarky quip, not a _peep_. Such a perfect opportunity to tease, denigrate, and deride Zell, as good as handed to him on a silver fucking platter, and he couldn’t come up with one single thing to say? Zell hated to think it, but maybe this incident was a bigger deal than he’d thought.

 

5\. economy size (adj.) : of a size that offers a large quantity for a proportionally lower cost

“You’re a dick,” Seifer muttered as he came through the door, throwing it violently shut behind him. Zell, from the sofa, tossed aside his book, trying to smother the grin on his face, as it would surely only piss off his boyfriend the more, but he couldn’t hold it in.

“What? It’s a-” he paused to choke down the laughter that was forcing its way out at the purely priggish expression on Seifer’s face, “-a bargain.”

“That shop girl was fucking laughing at me,” Seifer snarled, kicking the walls and anything else that happened into his path as he beelined for where Zell was sitting.

“Well, _you’re_ the one who came over unprepared, sweetheart,” Zell said before the giggles got the better of him, and he ducked as the family-size box of condoms came flying, smacking against the wall behind him, scattering packets everywhere, which naturally only made Zell want to laugh harder. He struggled to get himself under control, while Seifer stood watching with an increasingly hostile expression on his face. “If it’s any consolation,” he added, unable to resist smirking naughtily, “I can think of a lot of things we can do with a box that size...”

 

6\. falling (v.) : moving downward, typically rapidly and freely without control

“Now, Seifer,” Matron said in that no-nonsense tone that she saved specially for him, giving him The Look - the one that never failed to inspire fear and anxiety in the others, but Seifer had gotten it so often that some of the effect had worn off. “If you’ll just tell me the truth, you can go back to playing. It doesn’t give me any pleasure to have to punish you so much, you know.”

Seifer didn’t reply, staring resolutely at a small crack in the wall he was standing against. Like standing in the corner was such a terrible punishment, anyway - well, it wasn’t like he enjoyed it, but it wasn’t any worse than having to babysit that little brat Zell who went running to Matron every time he got a little cut or scrape. She just didn’t understand that he was trying to toughen the crybaby up; Zell was never going to make it anywhere in life if he couldn’t even stand up to Seifer.

“I want you to apologize to Zell for pushing him down on the rocks,” Matron went on in her very matronly manner, making that ugly pinched face she always did when Seifer was being difficult. “He hurt his knee quite badly, you know.”

“I didn’t push him anywhere,” Seifer said petulantly, staring into the corner. “He just keeps falling all over by himself.”

“Seifer,” she replied sternly, giving a quiet sigh. He said nothing, determined to be more stubborn than his caretaker - and he could be terribly stubborn when he had a mind, Matron ought to know that well. Besides, it wasn’t like her punishments were all that awful. Seeing Zell cry was well worth a half hour standing in the corner, every time. He was just so cute at it.

 

7\. gospel (n.) : a thing that is absolutely true

“Man, I really fucking hate you.”

“Right back at you, chicken-wuss.”

 

8\. haven (n.) : a place of safety or refuge

“I can’t believe Cid’s letting him back in here,” Zell murmured, stabbing his lunch with rather malicious intent as he scowled. “What does he want to come back to Garden for anyway? No one bloody wants him here.”

Nida shrugged, long since tired of hearing Zell wax resentment on the subject, but he still had eighteen minutes of a lunch break left and sitting there listening to the other boy bellyache was honestly a better prospect than going back up to the cockpit to stand in awkward silence with Quistis and Squall. “Probably because nowhere else would have him,” he offered for Zell’s sake, although he knew from experience that it wouldn’t make much of a difference to Zell’s perpetually sour outlook on the incident either way. The blonde was determined to hold a grudge against Seifer’s being admitted back into Garden, and nothing would change his mind on the subject.

“Yeah, you’d think the guy could take a hint, huh?” Zell said, poking holes in what had been a piece of meatloaf before he’d begun venting his anger on the unfortunate foodstuffs. Nida pursed his lips, shuffling the remains of a limp salad around on his plate.

“I heard from Xu that he had to beg Cid and Squall to let him back in,” he remarked, and was slightly surprised when Zell brightened up upon hearing it, giving a twisted little grin.

“Serves him right, too,” he replied coldly, smirking in a rather evil manner. Nida looked up at the clock, and sighed.

 

9\. immobilize (n.) : prevent someone or something from moving or operating as normal

Seifer considered himself pretty tough; he was a match for just about anyone else in Garden (and more than a match for most of them); in a fair fight, or even in an unfair one, he was rarely caught off-guard, and he could count on one hand the number of times in recent years that someone had actually gotten the better of him in a spar (though his opponent each of those times had, coincidentally, been Zell). The kid was just too quick, even fighting bare-all, no junctions, and if he came in suited up with Haste there was no chance (not that he ever sparred with Zell anymore anyway; at least, not in the traditional sense.) But as far as the rest of Garden, there wasn’t anyone Seifer couldn’t hold his own against.

No, he thought to himself, in more ways than one, it was only Zell who could put him out of action with such ease. With one punch, with a simple fleeting touch, with a look. Yeah, Seifer was Zell’s bitch, there was no debating that, but he grinned to himself; it really wasn’t all that bad.

 

10\. jail (n.) : a place for the confinement of people accused or convicted of a crime

“Bit ironic, isn’t it?” the guard at the door remarked - fucking third guy to say it since Seifer arrived at this godforsaken hole in the desert; if he heard it one more time, someone was going to get one hell of a foot in their ass - and he ushered Seifer through the door toward the tiny solitary cell that was going to be his home for the next three to five years (if he was lucky.) Yeah, sure, it was practically the definition of irony, getting locked up in Galbadia’s most notorious prison like the scum he used to so enjoy lording his power and prestige over, by the same guards who used to practically fight each other for the right to suck up to him. It was nothing if not ironic. Of course, his humiliation wouldn’t be complete without everyone he encountered commenting on it.

“Looks like your glory days are over, huh, big shot?” the guard said, punching buttons with a meaty finger. Seifer watched the giant crane in the center of the tower whir to life, descending with a mechanical hum until it was out of sight. “I remember the days when you thought you were better than everyone else. Not feeling too high and mighty now, are you?”

“That’s funny,” Seifer replied in a low, even tone. “What I seem to remember is you and your cronies following me around like slobbering puppies and lining up to kiss my ass. I guess we must have different views.”

The guard smirked, not bothered by Seifer’s taunts. “Seems you still think you’re better than us,” he said, looking smug, as the crane came rumbling back up. “I think that torture chamber you loved so much is still installed upstairs. We could dust it off and see if it’s got any life left in it.”

“Looking forward to it,” Seifer snarled, as the guard grabbed him by the back of the neck and shoved him into the tiny cell.

 

11\. kitsch (n.) : art, objects, or design considered to be in poor taste because of excessive garishness or sentimentality, but sometimes appreciated in an ironic or knowing way

“Pink and ivory tile?” Seifer sneered, flipping the page in Zell’s magazine with haughty contempt. “You might as well hang up a sign announcing that you’re gay.”

“Says the guy who keeps a cabinet devoted to _scented candles_ in his bathroom!” Zell shot back, flipping the page over again.

“You love my candles.”

“It’s _salmon_ , anyway, not pink. It’s supposed to be a contrasting point, against the blue,” he explained, shrugging away from Seifer, who was leaning over his shoulder and peering into the magazine.

“Whatever it is, it’s way camp,” Seifer grunted.

“Excuse me, didn’t you pick out the wallpaper with the dolphins on it? I can’t say I’m inclined to let _you_ help me redecorate anything.”

“Tough. I’m not giving you a choice. If I don’t intervene, you’re going to do something stupid, like tile your shower in pink. And as someone who uses your shower, I’m not willing to put up with that.”

“It’s _salmon_!”

 

12\. landscape (n.) : all the visible features of an area of countryside or land, often considered in terms of their aesthetic appeal

“Check it ooouuuut!” Zell laughed gleefully, shielding his eyes with one hand as he stared across the ravine at the sunset, a massive red orb sinking into the glittering, coruscating sea. He’d seen a lot of different sunsets in his life - gray and purple ombre skies obscured by the dusty, tenebrous cover of desert clouds, the sun yellow against green skies in the deep, colourless mountains of Trabia - but sunsets over the sea were always his favorites. There was something very nostalgic about it; it reminded him of home, running around on the docks after dinner in the orange glow of dusk.

“Get back in the truck, Dincht!” Seifer called from down the road, looking distinctly piqued to have to wait. He gunned the engine, and yelled, “unless you want to walk back to Balamb!”

“Yeah, yeah, you impatient bastard,” Zell murmured, grinning, as he trotted down the road.

 

13\. marvel (v.) : be filled with wonder or astonishment

“Seifer,” Quistis said with a smile, setting her lunch tray down on the table next to him, despite the very unwelcoming expression on his face. “Could I ask you to go to the station this afternoon and pick up the cadets?”

“You can ask all you want,” he replied, turning the other way. Zell, from the other side of the table, gave him a sharp kick in the shin, and he yelped.

“Don’t be a dick,” he warned.

“Don’t tell me what to do, Dincht,” Seifer snarled back.

“So,” Quistis cut in, adjusting her glasses, “you’ll go for me? Good.”

“I’ve said nothing of the sort.”

“He’ll go,” Zell answered, shoveling noodles into his mouth. Quistis looked to Zell, frowning slightly at his speaking for Seifer, who was scowling deeply.

“I will not,” he said testily, glaring at Zell. “Since when do you speak for me?”

“What else’ve you got to do?” Zell retorted. Seifer didn’t answer, and Quistis looked between the two of them, hesitating before speaking again.

“The train gets in at three,” she said tentatively. Seifer gave her a dirty look, and then glanced back at Zell, who was staring rather pointedly at him. She watched closely, feeling bewildered - they seemed to be having some sort of silent debate, and damned if Quistis understood what about - but a moment later, Seifer stood up brusquely, snatching up his lunch tray in a huff.

“Alright, whatever,” he said, stalking away. Zell gave a little triumphant smile, shooting a quirky grin at Quistis, who looked completely dumbfounded, and it was a minute before she said anything.

“How did you... how did you do that? He doesn’t listen to a _thing_ I say!” she finally said, her tone filled with awe. Zell only shrugged, slurping noodles.

“Jus’ like training a dog,” he said.

 

14\. nonentity (n.) : a person or thing of no importance

Two skippers, two students with overdue fees, and a solid handful of kids running in the halls, all caught - a good day’s work, all in all. Seifer sat back in his chair, flipping through his paperwork.

“Well, what now?” Raijin mused.

“It’s almost curfew,” Fuujin offered, pacing on the other side of the table. “If we stake out the training center, we can probably nab a half dozen more before the end of the day.”

Seifer nodded, about to answer just as something rushed past outside the door in a very blonde and familiar sort of way. He grinned to himself and stood up. _What a perfect way to end a good day,_ he thought to himself, walking to the door, followed by Raijin.

“Who was that?” he asked, peering around Seifer’s shoulder. “Dincht again?”

“I wonder where he’s going so fast,” Seifer said wonderingly, his lips curled in a smirk. “And if he’ll get there before curfew?”

“Oh, leave him, Seifer,” Fuujin scoffed, rolling her eye. “Dincht’s not worth our time. If we split up and cover all... _Seifer_.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, waving her comment away like a pesky fly, and ignoring the irritated huffing that followed. She just didn’t get it. It was always worth going out of his way to catch Dincht breaking the rules; it was so much _fun_. And if she didn’t want to participate, that just meant that there was more fun for him.

 

15\. outshine (v.) : to shine more brightly than someone or something

“Well, look at you!” Rinoa exclaimed, clapping her daintily-gloved hands together as Seifer approached. He gave her a winning grin, ignoring the displeased scowls of her boyfriend, who was standing nearby and not looking too happy that Seifer had shown up for the after party - not like it was his fault that he looked better than Squall did in uniform.

“I clean up well, don’t you think?” he replied, smiling. He could finally understand why Squall was always strutting around Garden like he owned the place - there was something about wearing the SeeD uniform that was uplifting to one’s ego. And Seifer knew he looked particularly dashing in formal wear; he had come to the party fully prepared to spend all night rubbing Squall’s prissy face in the fact.

“Oh, my,” Rinoa said next, leaning to peer around Seifer at the doorway, and he turned to see what she was looking at - blimey, was that...?

“Is that Zell?” Squall said, sounding almost astonished. Rinoa giggled, clutching her escort’s arm and looking positively giddy.

“He’s all dressed up! I’ve never seen him so...” she trailed off, evidently lost for words, and only after a long minute finally went on, “...dashing!”

Seifer resisted the urge to scoff and roll his eyes, but just barely. So the chicken was all dressed up. Alright, he looked good in uniform... well, rather good, actually; not that Seifer was into that sort of thing, or anything, but from an impartial point of view, the boy did look very _dashing_ in dress, his hair slicked back instead of fanned up in that ridiculous crest... and was Seifer seeing things, or did he suddenly seem _taller_?

“Sorry, Seif,” Rinoa said with a fluttery little laugh, patting his arm consolingly, “but I think you’ve been outdone.”

 

16\. parting (n.) : the action of leaving or being separated from someone

There was a knock on the door, and Zell leaned out of the bathroom, slapping at the panel on the wall with his elbow until the front door slid open. Quistis came in slowly, frowning as she caught sight of him. “What are you doing?”

“Eh?” he said, holding up his hands, covered in sticky, wet gel, for explanation. Quistis shook her head, her frown etched deep.

“I repeat...”

“I’ll be ready in a minute,” Zell said, ducking back into the bathroom and swiping at his hair. She stood in the doorway, watching with a slightly worried sidelong glance. “Is it time to go already?” he asked distractedly, twisting his hair into spikes. Quistis sighed, rubbing at the dark rings under her eyes.

“Yes, it’s time to go. You don’t have to do your hair,” she said wearily.

“I’ll only be a sec,” he replied, nudging the tap with his wrist and rinsing his hands under the water.

“Zell,” she began, voice steady, and then trailed off. Zell looked up at her, and for a minute both were silent. Her eyes were hooded and tired, her skin dull and papery; the fine lines that had been appearing gradually on her face over the past few years seemed suddenly much more prominent, as if carved into her skin. She cast a studying look over him, and remarked, “you’re not wearing your SeeD uniform.”

“Neither are you,” he said, straightening his tie; he never did like wearing suits. Quistis nodded, adjusting her wide-brimmed black hat and tucking a few stray wisps of hair back into it.

“I thought I’d piss Squall off one last time on his behalf by not adhering to dress code regulations,” she answered with a weak smile, smoothing the front of her plain gray dress. Zell grinned, and reached out to take her arm.

“Guess we had the same idea,” he said, and led her out the door.

 

17\. quisling (n.) : a traitor who collaborates with an enemy force, occupying their country

It wasn’t exactly that Seifer was nervous; he was pretty good at keeping his cool, always had been (the brief episode at the Timber TV station aside), but this was... this was just so _big_. Almost overwhelming, in a sense - just yesterday, he’d been nothing more than a delinquent cadet, locked like a naughty kid in the detention center at Garden... and tonight he would be standing at the sorceress’ side as she overthrew the most powerful man in the nation and announced the beginning of her reign. Who would have thought?

He couldn’t help but grin at the thought of what Squall and his lackeys were going to do when they saw him again. Okay, so maybe it was a _little_ callous, letting everyone think he was dead, but since when did he owe them anything? Nobody at Garden had ever treated him decently (sure, heading the Disciplinary Committee commanded a certain small amount of respect, but it was so grudgingly given that it was hardly worth it at all). He found he almost couldn’t wait to see the expressions on their faces - well, excepting Squall, who as far as Seifer knew had never been known to have an expression on his face - when he rode out on that float standing next to his Matron. The only thing that would make it better is if they had some kind of assassination plot going (he wouldn’t put it past those Galbadian government dogs); getting a chance to add a few more scars to Squall’s pretty face would be the highlight of the evening. Seifer was no longer the errant, reckless cadet who had only failed the SeeD exam; and soon enough, everyone would finally see that.

 

18\. refinement (n.) : sophisticated and superior good taste

“Hmmm...” Seifer said, looking around, his expression that of one rather impressed despite himself. “This is actually... pretty decent.”

“It’s fabulous and you know it,” Zell shot back, looking somewhat offended that Seifer wasn’t completely in love with his new bathroom suite - although considering the unfortunate dolphin episode, the fact that the other man was acknowledging that the new decor was anything less than heinous was something of an improvement. “Ma helped me with the colour scheme.”

“You had your mum help you decorate your new bathroom? I take it back,” Seifer said with a scowl, rolling his eyes. “I knew you couldn’t come up with something this tasteful on your own.”

“Says Seifer ‘salmon is _so_ camp!’ Almasy,” Zell spat. “Who are you to talk about taste?”

“At least I don’t have to have _Selphie_ arrange my wardrobe for me to look good,” Seifer bit acrimoniously, and Zell gasped, unable to retort for a full five seconds.

“Too bad you think so! I was going to show you the best part of the new suite-” the martial artist paused for emphasis, and with a dramatic flair, whipped the shower curtain aside to reveal the massive tub he’d had specially installed in place of the old one, “but since you’ve made it clear you don’t want anything to do with me and my _bad taste_ and my _king-size tub_...”

He turned and flounced out of the bathroom in high dudgeon, stopping just outside and waiting... it would only be a few moments... he started to count in his head.

“Alright, alright,” Seifer huffed, storming out of the bathroom behind him. “Maybe I was wrong...”

 

19\. scorching (adj.) : very hot

“I gotta say, I’ve never been so glad to lose a bet...” Zell said, flopping on the couch. Seifer, entering the dorm room behind him, made a sour face.

“I can’t believe you’d bet against me,” he said with just a touch of pique.

“I can’t believe you’d be surprised by that,” Zell replied.

“I mean, did you really not think I’d make SeeD?” Seifer asked, crossing his arms and slowly making his way across the room. Zell bit his lip, trying to hold in a snicker - so _that’s_ what Seifer had been so bent out of shape about all night?

“I knew you could do it,” he said in reply, shrugging nonchalantly, “but I can’t exactly go around bein’ your personal cheerleader, can I, seein’ as we’re supposed to be mortal enemies or somethin’?”

“Or something, hm?” was all Seifer said, still pacing.

“Are you bothered by it?”

“I figured _you_ would be,” he said.

Zell gave a sheepish grin, shaking his head. “Look, it is what it is. We both knew goin’ into this thing that it was going to be weird more than anything else. Honestly, I’d rather not have anyone know about us - I been thinkin’ on it for months, and I _still_ can’t come up with a way to tell Quistis that don’t end with her head exploding...”

Seifer smiled in spite of himself, and sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t have a problem with that,” he said.

“And besides,” Zell added with a fiendish grin, rising from his seat and stepping close to the other man. “There’s something really fun about a secret, don’t you think...?”

 

20\. theorize (v.) : form a theory or set of theories about something

“I’m telling you, something’s going on there,” Selphie insisted through a sticky mouthful of cake, waving her fork with vehement emphasis. Irvine only shook his head.

“You’re letting your imagination run off, sweetheart,” he said with a skeptical smile.

“No, I’m serious!” she said, and dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, despite the fact that there were a half dozen tables between them and the only other few people in the cafeteria. “Quisty thinks something’s fishy, too. They haven’t been fighting for weeks.”

“So they’ve grown out of it,” Irvine offered in explanation, shrugging. “They’ve matured. Fighting a war’ll do that to ya.”

“It’s not just that. They’re actually, like, _hanging out_. Like, _friendly_.”

“If you ask me, Seifer could use some friends. Maybe it’d stop him being so mopey all the damn time.”

Selphie scowled darkly at him across the table. “Can you please take this seriously?”

“I don’t see what the big deal is,” he replied, shaking his head. “Who cares if Zell and Seifer are friends? It ain’t any of your business.”

“They’re _more_ than friends, that’s what I’m trying to tell you!” she hissed, leaning over the table and casting furtive looks around to make sure no one was listening in. “Last week, I saw Seifer leaving Zell’s room at six in the morning-”

“What were you doing up at six in the morning?” Irvine interrupted.

“I was coming back from a party! That’s not the point! Explain that one away, smart guy!” she snorted. Irvine paused, and thought for a moment.

“Hallucination.”

“You’re being _deliberately_ obtuse.”

“So what if I am?” he scoffed, but after a second of thought, he leaned close to her, his expression stern, and continued, “look, supposing that there _was_ something fishy going on - and I’m not sayin’ I believe that there is - what do you care about it? It’s not any of your business, and if it makes the two of them happy, why would you wanna take that away?”

Selphie pondered this with a wide-eyed expression for a moment or two, her brow furrowed in contemplation. She stared at Irvine, frowning, before her lips stretched into a devious grin. “You know something,” she declared.

“What?” he laughed, weakly, and turned his head to the side. “You got to do something about that imagination of yours, sweetheart. It’s gettin’ the better of you. Stop that,” he added as she stared unabated at him with intent eyes. “I don’t know nothin’. Don’t give me that look. _Selphie_.”

A few quiet seconds passed. “Selphie,” he said again, his voice wavering. She firmly held her stare, and he broke into a sweat.

“Tell me,” she demanded.

“I can’t,” he whimpered. Selphie grabbed his wrist and held it to the table with a vicegrip. For a very long couple of moments they sat in a stalemate, eyes locked. Then Irvine jumped up, snatching up the plate with the crumbling half piece of cake on it, sitting abandoned between them, and flung it toward Selphie’s face. She squealed, and he spun around and dashed off between the tables, calling back over his shoulder, “sorry!”

“Come back, you bastard!” she yelled, wiping chunks of cake out of her eyes and smearing chocolate across her face. “I’ll get it out of you!”

 

21\. unorthodox (adj.) : not conventional in belief, behavior, custom, etc.; not conforming to methods or attitudes that are generally accepted

He’d thrown back a shot of whiskey before leaving his room - mostly as a precautionary measure; so that if this ended up completely blowing up in his face, as it more likely than not would, at least he’d have the smell of alcohol on his breath to take some of the blame - but it hadn’t done much to alleviate the nervousness that crawls up and down his spine as he stands outside Zell’s door for fifteen of the longest seconds of his life. When Zell, after several lifetimes, finally gets around to opening it, Seifer doesn’t wait for an invitation before shoving his way through the door, slamming it shut behind him, and attributing the fact that doing that actually works to Zell’s sleepy, befuddled expression - _mmm_ , why was that so _attractive_? - and the fact that he’d clearly just rolled out of bed.

He only gets out a few words, something about _what the fuck do you think you’re doing here_ before Seifer cuts him off, backing him up to the wall, and Zell really must be dozy, he’d never let Seifer corner him under normal circumstances - normal circumstances being not in the wee hours of the morning, as they’d fought each other under just about every other circumstance available. Seifer mumbles something, _shut the fuck up_ or _don’t ask questions_ , and Zell, looking less sleepy and more angry with each passing second, is about to answer in fashion until Seifer cuts him off with a kiss that seems a lot less unexpected than it should be, or maybe he’s just so nervous that it feels that way. Zell doesn’t sock him in the face, the stomach, or the balls, which makes Seifer’s experiment half a success already, which is better than he’d anticipated. Neither is Zell reciprocating - he appears to be simply waiting for Seifer to finish what he’s doing, in the meantime mentally debating whether or not he should kick Seifer’s ass. Even if he does, Seifer figures he’s still gotten further than he ever expected to. In fact, a good sharp slap in the face, just to prove that he’s not actually dreaming this up, wouldn’t go amiss right about now.

Instead, the next thing Seifer’s aware of is the back of his head cracking into the bedpost - which was not, if the apologetic little grin on Zell’s face is any indication, the other man’s intention as he herds Seifer toward the bed, and they end up instead in a tangled mess of legs and arms and sheets on the floor. Seifer’s head is spinning, and he wonders if it’s because of his skull being bashed into a wooden post, or the result of the amazing, fierce, _mmm_ , where did he learn _that?_ kiss and Zell’s hands under his shirt - and then not, as his shirt goes flying into the corner, discarded - everything seems terribly unreal; maybe that knock of whiskey was hitting him harder than he’d thought. Zell leans over with a smirk on his face, pure mischief, and murmurs something that sounds too good to be true, so Seifer has to ask him to repeat it. And with a laugh, the boy does, his lips brushing teasingly against Seifer’s ear as he wonders _what fucking took you so long?_

 

22\. vet (v.) : investigate someone thoroughly, esp. in order to ensure that they are suitable for a job requiring secrecy, loyalty, or trustworthiness

“You think it’s wise to put Seifer on this?” Zell said with some doubt, chewing the end of his pen as he carefully went through the mission documents for the nth time that night. Xu, across from him, gave a wearying sigh, and kicked her legs up on the table.

“Even if I don’t, we don’t appear to have any choice,” she admitted, rubbing tired eyes under her glasses. She glanced over at Squall, who was frowning deeply, looking as frustrated as they all must have felt. He shook his head and gave a weak shrug, clearly at a loss.

“We’ve got to put him back to work sometime,” was all the answer he gave.

“Yeah, but...” Zell began, paused, and went on, “I mean... this is a serious assignment.”

“You’ll be with him,” Squall added. Zell laughed scornfully.

“Yeah, because _my_ presence is likely to make him more cooperative, not _less_.”

“Look, it comes down to this: Seifer knows more about the Galbadian underground than all three of us could discover in months of undercover work,” Xu interjected, holding her hands up as if in defeat. “Do we need that knowledge enough to risk the fact that he might turn on us?”

“Zell’s worked with him the most since the war,” Squall pointed out, glancing over at the blonde for confirmation. “Do you think he can handle this mission?”

“Shit, of course he _can_ ,” Zell replied, huffing. “Seifer could probably handle anything if he wanted to, he just don’t like people to know it. He likes to be underestimated.” He paused for another moment, scratching his brow with the end of his pen. Then he added, “it’s more of a matter of _will_ he do it or not. Case you hadn’t noticed, the guy’s a bit of a prick. And he don’t particularly like working with me, either.”

Xu giggled, but Squall’s expression remained impassive. “What it really comes down to, then, is this,” he said, giving Zell a very grave stare. “Do you trust him enough to take him on this mission with you?”

Zell thought about it, but only for a moment or two, and he grinned wryly, at a loss for any further argument. “Yeah,” he admitted, sighing in defeat. “Yeah, I do.”

 

23\. wastrel (n.) : an idler; a vagabond; a good-for-nothing

“You plannin’ to fucking mooch off me forever?” Zell asked, scowling as he came through the door to find Seifer lying on the couch in exactly the same spot he’d been in an hour ago, when Zell left. “You could get up and do something, you know,” he grumbled, dropping the grocery bags on the counter and shooting cold glares at the back of Seifer’s head through the doorway. “Clean, maybe. Or go out and find a fucking _job_. Why do I even bother,” he groused to himself, continuing to curse vaguely under his breath as he unpacked his bags.

“Yeah, yeah,” Seifer said, waving his hand dismissively over his shoulder. Zell fumed.

“Get in here and fucking help me with this,” he commanded, and Seifer rose grudgingly from the couch. “You can bloody well do _something_ resembling housework, can’t you?”

“Where did you learn to nag like that?” Seifer wondered as he came into the kitchen, leaning against the counter. “You’re worse than a wife.”

“Hey, if anyone’s the wife around here, it’s _you_ ,” Zell said, gesturing harshly at Seifer with a packet of frozen chicken breast. “I’m the one who pays the fucking bills, don’t forget.”

Seifer only grinned, strolling casually across the room. “Oh, don’t worry,” he said softly, coming up behind Zell and smirking as the other man tensed when he felt Seifer’s hand on his hip. He leaned close, putting his lips to Zell’s ear, and purred, “I haven’t forgotten...”

 

24\. xylography (n.) : the art of making woodcuts or wood engravings, esp. by a relatively primitive technique

Zell had been up since sunrise, working tirelessly over that stupid radio he was still trying to build. As if you could build a fucking radio out of gnarled pieces of tree bark and vines, but hey, it wasn’t hurting anybody to let the kid waste his time with it, and it kept him out of Seifer’s way. But around noon, he couldn’t suppress his curiosity any longer and he tramped across their makeshift camp to see just what Zell was up to.

“Whittling,” the boy answered, shaving away at a hunk of knotted, soggy wood. Seifer scowled.

“Whittling? What the fuck for?”

“To make a casing for the radio bits. In case it rains or something,” Zell explained, as if trying to reassemble a grievously crushed radio transmitter in the middle of the jungle was something he often did for pleasure. Seifer whacked him across the back of the head.

“Don’t be fucking daft,” he snarled, stomping back to his side of the clearing, slashing randomly at the trees and bushes with his gunblade. “You’re never gonna refigure that fucking radio. Come and do something fucking useful, like help me find some fucking food, unless you want to sit around this fucking jungle until we both fucking starve!”

“Give me a few minutes,” Zell mumbled over his project, carving away at the block of wood. Seifer only rolled his eyes, fed up with Zell’s nonsense, and he stormed off into the trees, hacking at the undergrowth angrily.

And two days later, when Ragnarok caught their signal and came swooping down through the canopy to rescue them, Zell was merciful enough to only look a bit smug about it.

 

25\. yield (v.) : give way to arguments, demands, or pressure

 

How did he let Seifer get him into a corner? No, never mind that; why the hell was the center suddenly totally empty? Last Zell had looked around, there had been plenty of people hanging around, and he had a feeling that a few witnesses standing by wouldn’t go awry right then. Seifer had a very sinister look on his face, and he just kept moving closer, despite the fact that there was nowhere else for Zell to back up to.

“Nowhere to go, Dincht,” Seifer remarked, as if echoing Zell’s thoughts.

“Back off, or I’ll whack you,” Zell warned back, only a second later wishing he had the mental agility to come up with better threats. He just wasn’t that good on the spur of the moment and he’d used up all of his pre-thought out insults in the fight earlier.

“If you were gonna hit me you’d have hit me already,” Seifer said coolly, which was probably true; Zell didn’t know why he hadn’t clobbered him a good one already, but there was something sordidly satisfying about being pinned to a wall by Seifer. “Gonna fight back? I don’t think so,” the gunblader went on. Zell glowered, giving Seifer the dirtiest glare he could.

“I’d kick your arse into next week, ‘cept you’re hardly worth my time,” he sneered. Seifer laughed.

“No you won’t, chicken... you’re too curious. You want to know what my motive is,” Seifer said, leaning close, and Zell felt that it might be a bad idea to move away, so he didn’t.

“Get the fuck offa me,” Zell demanded, reaching up to shove the other man away, but Seifer caught his wrists and held him against the wall.

“I’ll let you go, if you do something for me,” he cooed, his voice so deep and smooth it sent a shiver through Zell.

“Fuck off!”

“No,” Seifer replied simply, pressing the smaller boy more insistently against the wall and showing no signs of relenting until Zell acquiesced. Zell’s knees felt weak, and he momentarily wondered if now would be a good time to get the hell away from Seifer when the gunblader spoke again. “Close your eyes.”

“Why should I?”

“Because,” Seifer said quietly, “you don’t know what I’ll do if you don’t comply.”

“I don’t know what you’ll do if I _do_ ,” Zell retorted.

“That’s why it’s fun for me,” Seifer shot back, grinning maddeningly. He suddenly moved closer, his face inches from Zell’s, that same superior smirk on his lips. Zell felt his heart skip a beat, but there was nowhere else to retreat to, and he realized with a sudden, strange apprehension that Seifer was going to kiss him. Why else was he so damnably close? Zell could feel Seifer’s breath on his lips, and he found he actually rather _wanted_ Seifer to kiss him; there was so much tension in the air, it would be a waste not to. _Aw, hell_ , he thought wryly, _that is so not right!_

He squeezed his eyes shut and waited; the seconds drew out for an eternity, Seifer’s lips not inches from his own. Seifer laughed, and suddenly released him, and Zell looked up, confused. The other man was smirking triumphantly, and he slapped Zell’s face lightly. “Cute, chicken.”

“You... you bastard!” Zell sputtered as Seifer turned and walked away through the brush, leaning heavily against the wall to support himself and wishing that his heart wouldn’t beat so fast.

 

26\. zonk (v.) : fall or cause to fall suddenly and heavily asleep or lose consciousness

“Hmm... Seif...” Zell mumbled drowsily, grinning as he swept sweat-damp hair from his eyes and laid back on the bed. Seifer, beside him, leaned up, resting on his elbow to look over at his lover.

“What?”

“I love you,” he said, his grin turning sheepish as he looked up at Seifer, his sleepy blue eyes heavy-lidded, cheeks gently flushed with colour. Seifer had never in his life known anything as gorgeous as Zell in bed - not that he would admit that; it was too cheesy... but it was fine to think to himself. He nodded in response, his face impassive. Zell looked away, but he didn’t look unhappy.

“You don’t gotta say nothin’ back, I know you don’t feel the same way,” he said, his tone languid and throaty the way he got after sex. That tone never failed to make Seifer want to squeeze Zell in a bear hug, it was just too cute. Instead, he settled for sinking down into the mattress next to Zell, staring silently up at the ceiling. “I just...” Zell went on after a few moments of sleepy silence, “...I dunno... like saying it. Don’t worry ‘bout it.”

Seifer hesitated a couple seconds, and then sat up again, turning to look at Zell, but the other man was already fast asleep, his breathing slow and deep. Seifer scoffed quietly to himself, but he was smiling as he watched Zell for a moment or two. “Fucking idiot,” he said under his breath, reaching over to brush a stray lock of hair from Zell’s face, and marveling at how fast someone could fall asleep. It was no wonder he thought Seifer didn’t love him; he was out too quickly to give him a chance to say it. But that was okay, Seifer thought to himself; it was better if no one witnessed his cheesy moments. That was how he preferred it, he decided, as he bent over to whisper in Zell’s ear.

 

 


	4. 12 drabbles

9/2011

 

1\. I’ve Done Everything I Could Do Wrong - Reckless Kelly / time - 4:14 / word count - 144

Seifer sighs when he returns to his room to find it empty, again - six nights in a row, Zell must be well and truly pissed at him this time, whatever he’d done. He doesn’t really even remember; he was pretty drunk at that party, though the deck Zell had given him when they got back had sobered him up real quick. He thinks about phoning the other man, or would that be admitting defeat? But later in the night, in the dark, when he’s fucking his hand and wishing it were as hot and tight as Zell’s body, smelling the other man’s scent on his pillows and realizing that the stiff, unpleasant feeling in his chest is an ache, he gives up caring, fumbling for the phone on the bedside table. He’s not even angry when Zell sounds so smug on the other end.

 

2\. Kids - MGMT / time - 5:03 / word count - 244

At five, Seifer can bring Zell to his knees with just a cruel word, a well-placed kick to the shins, a fistful of sand to the face. It’s so easy it’s almost not worth even doing, except the crybaby’s reactions are so amusing.

At ten, it gets a bit harder. The twerp developed an interest in martial arts a few months back, and he’s got pretty good at imitating those guys he watches in foreign films, getting in with quick jabs to Seifer’s kidneys and crazy flying kicks that knock the wind out of him, even as small as Zell is. It takes a little work, but Seifer can bring him down - and pride dictates he must; he’s lost a frightful deal of respect since the boy started fighting back.

At fifteen, it’s not easy at all. Who’d have thought the little chicken would grow up to be a warrior? Not Seifer, that’s for sure; and it sometimes takes his all to come out ahead in their spars which are often more like brawls, broken up by instructors and followed by lectures - not that it ever discourages either of them from meeting again in the dark and quiet of the Training Center, Zell with fists cocked, Seifer’s sword in hand.

At twenty, Seifer knows just how to bring Zell to his knees. And only because he knows just how enjoyable an experience it can be does he never mind getting on his first.

 

3\. Quiet As A Mouse - Margot and the Nuclear So and So’s / time - 4:37 / word count - 252

“ _Stoppit_!” Zell hissed, swatting at Seifer’s hand, which had been drifting with purpose toward the front of his trousers, but it was barely a protest. Seifer had certainly prevailed through much greater displays of objection.

“Ssh. They’ll hear us.”

“Someone’s definitely gonna hear _you_ when I smack that grin off your stupid face-”

“Zell,” Seifer purred, leaning in close - it was awkward; three sides of the closet were all shelving and there was virtually nowhere to move - but so worth it; Zell surrendered wordlessly as Seifer kissed him, deeply and slowly. It was that low murmur of his name, that husky tone just oozing with sex appeal, all dark and forbidding - got Zell every time. But who was he kidding anyway? He only protested for appearance’s sake; they both of them knew how much he wanted this, as Seifer’s hand slipped deftly down the front of his shorts, finding Zell’s cock hard and ready, as always.

“If you can keep your little chicken mouth shut for a while,” Seifer murmured, a breath away from Zell’s lips - their bodies mashed together in the tiny space, the corner of something jammed into the small of Zell’s back, but he didn’t much care with Seifer’s hand between his legs, wrapped around his dick, stroking and rubbing as if he knew just how Zell liked it, _right there_ \- “...I’ll show you what I can do with mine later...”

 

4\. Paul Revere - Beastie Boys / time - 3:41 / word count - 206

“Well, fancy meeting you here...” Seifer begins, but before he can complete the thought, Zell leaps off his barstool - a remarkably graceful movement, despite the botched landing; he staggers back to his feet, ignoring the glares of the number of bar patrons he fell into, and glowers up at Seifer with an expression of pure drunken hatred.

“If you call me ‘chicken-wuss’, I swear I’ll punch your nose right through your face-”

“Wouldn’t dream of it... Dincht,” Seifer replies, casting Zell a saccharine smile, to which the martial artist doesn’t take kindly. By the time he recovers, stumbling back to his feet, from the first punch he throws and misses, their end of the bar has erupted into an all-out melee; he doesn’t even know where Seifer has gone until a white-sleeved arm reaches out from behind the bar to yank him down, out of the brawl, and Zell is too drunk to register for a long couple of moments that Seifer just saved him. He is only just beginning to wonder to himself if Seifer would react badly to a small show of gratitude when the gunblader crawls into his lap and leans in close and offers an apology of his own.

 

5\. The Resolution - Jack’s Mannequin / time - 3:06 / word count - 183

Mostly it’s fast and hard and rough, with Zell up against a wall or on the floor in a corner somewhere; biting and kicking and scratching and fighting his way free from Seifer’s grip, only to pin the other man down himself; bleeding lips and bruises on Seifer’s arms and Zell’s hips; throats raw from screaming, _howling_. Mostly it’s about a quick fix; a fuck, hurried and cold and raw, and nothing more.

But Zell finds he likes when it’s not - when it’s quiet in his dorm room, dark except for the pale luminescence of the glow-in-the-dark star decals he stuck on the ceiling when he was twelve, and all he can see is a glint of silver from the other man’s choker as they move, but he can feel everything - every touch, every gentle press of Seifer’s fingertips on his skin, every kiss on his neck, down his collarbone - every thrust of Seifer’s cock, deep and slow, sometimes for hours, until they both come gasping for air, and then fall asleep without speaking.

 

6\. Wonderful Tonight - Eric Clapton / time - 3:42 / word count - 232

“Holy... shit...” Seifer breathes, chest heaving. Zell, next to him on the bed, looks over and smirks.

“Yeah... like... likewise...” he says in reply, taking a moment to catch his breath. “Asshole,” he adds, almost as an afterthought. Seifer turns to give him a sharp glare.

“What did you say, chicken-shit?”

“I said you’re an asshole,” Zell repeats, still grinning, and he sits up on the edge of the bed, searching around on the floor for the sheets they cast off quite some time ago. “For not suggesting we do this sooner.”

“Didn’t think you’d be up for it,” Seifer says with a shrug, but his expression as Zell glances over his shoulder at him is challenging - and now that he knows what it means, Zell decides he rather likes that look.

“I’m up for anything you are, asshole,” he shoots back with a cocky quirk of the eyebrow, eliciting a grin from the other man. He stands and wraps the sheet around his waist, wondering just where his clothes got to.

“Care for making a standing appointment?”

“You’d better fucking bet,” Zell answers, his smirk unfading, even as he finally identifies what the ragged piece of ripped black cloth at his foot is. _Oh well_ , he thinks unconcernedly, _looks like I’m going commando ‘til I get home again..._

 

7\. The Time, The Light, The Heart - Revere / time - 2:54 / word count - 176

It takes some getting used to, after that first drunken night - the shift between them that starts out awkward, and gradually over weeks and months moves through uncomfortable and strange and into not unpleasant, and finally arrives at familiar and okay. When Zell looks back, he can never trace exactly how their relationship morphed from bitter rivals, enemies, to this weird thing they have now, less a relationship than a symbiosis.

They have similar needs is all, is the conclusion he always comes to. Physically - in bed, that is - they match up, and Seifer can take what Zell dishes out, and vice versa - which never seems to be the case with the girls he occasionally picks up, usually in a drunken fit of rebellion against himself; but sometimes, when he wakes up in the dead of night gasping, a scream fresh in his throat, the nightmare slipping from his mind like water through his fingers, and Seifer is gripping him just as tightly as he is the other man, he understands how they ended up together.

 

8\. Wild Horses - The Rolling Stones / time - 5:43 / word count - 281

“You’d better go,” Zell murmurs, his gaze fixed on a spot somewhere to Seifer’s left; he hasn’t met Seifer’s eyes once the whole night, and he sits up on the far side of the bed, staring out the window, his skin painted in the orange glow of the sunrise. Seifer turns the other way, standing to gather his clothes from the floor.

“The trial doesn’t start until eleven,” he remarks, almost casually; but he knows they both heard the fear in his voice. “I could stay a while longer.”

“No, that’s okay,” Zell says, his tone all finality. He’s trying to make it easier for the both of them, but Seifer doesn’t like it anyway. He takes his time collecting his clothes and dressing, thinking about all the times he’s left Zell’s room at dawn - so many times he can’t even count - and how nothing in his life has ever been as hard as this.

“Are you...” he begins, but he has to stop and breathe before he can go on, “...sure you don’t want to come?”

“Selphie’s coming over later to watch it with me on telly,” Zell replies, the words all in a rush, as though he’s practiced them. Seifer stands by the door for another minute, waiting, but Zell says nothing more.

“Alright, then,” Seifer says, one hand on the doorknob; but he can’t seem to take another step away. He turns to look back at the other man. “I’ll see you later,” he says.

Zell looks up, and nods, even though he must know it’s a lie. “Okay, later,” he agrees, and his eyes are still on Seifer as he leaves, shutting the door slowly behind him.

 

9\. If You Want Blood (You’ve Got It) - ACDC / time - 4:37 / word count - 354

“I can’t believe they let you back in here,” Zell snarls for the nth time - it was cute for a while, but it’s starting to get old now. Seifer smirks anyway.

“No need to pretend you’re disappointed, chicken-wuss,” he purrs back, loving the way his cool calm only riles Zell up more.

“Oh, I ain’t disappointed. Now I got plenty more chances to pound on you,” the boy shoots back.

“Why don’t you just say what you really mean, Dincht?” Seifer replies, shooting him a pointed look; Zell just stares back blankly.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Seifer bites back a sigh. The kid is really an idiot. “Come to my room tonight after curfew,” he says silkily, showing his teeth in a feral grin, “if you want to find out. That is, if you think you’re up to it.”

“Oh, I’m up to it alright!” Zell barks as Seifer turns and leaves, leaving the other boy fuming and perplexed. And when Zell actually shows up at his door, a few hours after lights-out, bouncing on his feet and all ready for a fight, it confirms Seifer’s belief that the stupid kid really had no idea what he really meant when he extended that invitation - at least, until Zell pushes his way through the door, and before Seifer is even awake enough to ask him what the hell he thinks he’s doing, drops to his knees, tugging at the front of Seifer’s sweats - and by the time Seifer can articulate a proper thought again, he’s on the floor, and Zell’s crawling up from between his legs, wet lips, hair falling down over his eyes, and damn if it isn’t the sexiest thing Seifer has ever seen. He’s grinning like the cat that got the cream, and he says, “what, no snarky comebacks this time?”

Seifer doesn’t answer; just grabs Zell by the front of his shirt and pulls him up into a kiss, to which the other boy doesn’t seem to object; but, though he’d never admit it to Zell, he decides that there are times where it’s okay to admit defeat.

 

10\. Your Eyes Are Like Mine - Winterkids / time - 3:50 / word count - 240

They had agreed not to talk about it again - but, Zell reasoned to himself, they _weren’t_ talking; in fact, since they’d got to Seifer’s room, they had conversed very little, and most of that stunted, just words and moans that meant little - _yes, more, fuck, just like that, unh, Seifer!_ They’d both drank a little, but they were certainly neither of them drunk - too many of their encounters happened that way, and Zell was pleased in a vague way to find that the first time hadn’t just been a drunken fluke - sex with Seifer was amazing, even sober; he wasn’t sure he would have expected.

Of course, he hadn’t planned at all to sleep with the other man again, but who was he kidding? It was going to happen again, and more, and he couldn’t with honesty say he didn’t want it to. Seifer’s bloody ego had been the foremost objection; but once they got past all the head games, the truth was he was really beginning to like Seifer - and not solely in bed, that was the scariest part. He sighed, looking down at the man sleeping next to him, and gave up wondering how it all came to this - the bottom line was that he was in good danger of falling for the asshole, and he wasn’t at all certain he was opposed to the idea.

 

11\. Creepin’ Up The Backstairs - The Fratellis / time - 3:07 / word count - 314

From an outside view, it was kind of funny - Seifer was always breaking rules, despite being the head of the Disciplinary Committee, where Zell was something of a stickler, a model student really - but the two of them together always spelled trouble, and every instructor well knew it. Quistis knew better than most, in fact, as it always seemed to fall to her to keep Seifer in line, no easy task. She suspected that most of his delinquent behavior was done particularly to rile her up, but Zell was another matter entirely - it was only when Seifer was around that he had trouble keeping his cool, and reasonably, she thought, as the gunblader did have a peculiar skill for pissing him off.

So as she made her way to the infirmary, _again_ , she had a pretty strong feeling she knew what the summons was about - and was surprised, when she arrived, to find Seifer and Zell, not sniping and bitching at each other from across the ward as had been the custom, but both sleeping - _together_ , in one tiny infirmary bed, Zell half in Seifer’s lap, his head resting on the taller boy’s shoulder - and for the moment it took her mind to register the fact that it was _really_ weird, she couldn’t help but think it was rather cute.

“What happened here?” She asked Kadowaki, who had come up beside her and was looking over the two on the bed with an expression just as perplexed as Quistis felt.

“I’ve no idea,” the doctor replied. “They were in the Training Center this morning and beat each other to high hell. I dosed them both up and left for a few minutes, and then when I came back, they were like this.”

“Huh,” Quistis said cluelessly.

 

12\. America - Razorlight / time - 4:10 / word count - 347

“Zell!” Selphie spots him as he finally emerges from his room late that night, and she runs to meet him. “Where have you...? I mean... I came by earlier, and I phoned, but there was no answer.”

“Sorry,” he says, “I just... wasn’t feeling like company.”

“I see,” she replies, looking away, as though unsure of what to say next - she looks tired; her eyes are red, as though she spent a good part of the afternoon crying, and Zell waits for her to decide if she wants to bring it up or not. They walk down the hall, towards the cafeteria together.

“Did you, um...” she begins haltingly, “watch the trail?”

“I... I don’t really want to talk about it, Selph,” Zell answers, and she nods, and doesn’t bring it up again. He didn’t watch it, in fact - couldn’t even turn the telly on, what was the point? Once that door closed behind Seifer, Zell knew it wasn’t going to open again. “Wanna grab some supper? I haven’t ate all day,” he continues, forcing a brittle thread of joviality into his voice - luckily, Selphie seems to take the hint, and follows suit, grinning her silly girl grin and skipping down the hall ahead of him. They eat together and force smalltalk, and it takes Zell so much effort that for a while, he forgets that he’ll be going back to an empty room that night, an empty bed.

She walks back with him later, and he declines her offer to come in and hang out for a bit. He enters his room without turning on the light, instead standing just by the door in the dark for a long while, musing. But at length, a rustling sound from by the bed stirs him - and he looks up, but in the dark, there is only a flash of silver, the faint outline of a shadow. “Hey,” Seifer says, standing up, and Zell can tell by the tone of his voice that he’s smiling.

“Hey,” he says back, and he feels his soul breathe a sigh of relief.

 

 


	5. 4 short fics

8/2012

 

Deep Red Bells / word count: 435

He asked Zell once if he could hear it. It was late; they’d been up for hours and hours marathoning cheesy action flicks and he’d already been getting drowsy halfway through the fourth, but he fought his way through the fifth just to keep Zell from teasing him and calling him a lamer. It was as he was drifting off on the sofa while Zell gathered up his DVDs, trying to make some sense of the mess they’d both made earlier while fighting over titles, that he heard the bells; as loud and clear as if they’d rung beside him, echoing once with an almost physical reverberation in his head and then vanishing into the mist of the half-dream he’d slipped into. When he sat up on the sofa, Zell was watching him with a funny look.

“Don’t you ever hear that?” Seifer asked, his heart pounding a rapid drum. More than a sound: he could almost feel the chill on his skin and smell the damp dankness of stone. Almost.

“I didn’t hear anything.”

“Just now. And other times,” he said, trying not to sound too crazy, because he was sure he looked pretty crazy. Zell’s eyes narrowed, and he frowned, looking concerned. “It’s... it’s not when I’m awake. But it’s not a dream.”

“What do you hear?” Zell asked gently.

Seifer tried to think. He closed his eyes, but doing so only brought with it an image, a flood of memories, mute but still potent. He looked down at Zell, who was kneeling next to the sofa, utterly quiet; the only sound in the room was that of Seifer’s quickened breathing.

“Something,” he said, but he couldn’t find the words to describe it. “A ringing. Like bells. But... not,” he finished softly. But even that wasn’t right. His memory was shrouded in silence, as if the very air stifled anything that dared to tread. No bells, only footsteps. The quiet breath of laughter.

Zell smiled up at him, and Seifer realized he was clutching the other man’s hand like he wanted to break it. “I didn’t hear nothin’,” Zell said in that uncharacteristically calm voice that Seifer always found reassuring. He gave Seifer’s hand a little squeeze. “No bells. Just a dream, babe.”

“Guess so,” Seifer mumbled, and he let Zell drag him to bed. He wouldn’t hear it again tonight, sleeping next to Zell. And maybe when he woke up in the morning, he’d forget that the warm body next to him in that tiny bed, smiling at him and teasing him and loving him, was what was really a dream.

 

Down It Goes / word count: 416

“You don’t know how much I’d just love to beat you up right now,” Zell says coolly, staring down at Seifer, sitting against a brick wall in the darkness of the alley behind the pub. Seifer looks pointedly from Zell’s cocked fists, wet with his blood, to the splintered piece of two-by-four laying on the ground nearby that Zell had just broken across his ribcage, and he wipes the cut above his left eye with the back of his hand, only temporarily slowing the flow of blood from the gash.

“Think you already accomplished that quite well, but thanks for the sentiment,” he says in response, spitting blood onto the cement. He’s pretty sure his ribs aren’t broken, but he’s not going anywhere for a while, so if Zell’s serious about beating him up, he’s in trouble. But a moment later, Zell cocks a smile, giving his head a little shake and looking far too smug for Seifer’s taste.

“You don’t let me finish,” the martial artist says, crouching down in front of Seifer. He looks Seifer up and down as if doing a mental inventory, and his grin morphs into a full-on smirk. Seifer wonders whether he’s inwardly calculating how many bones he can break without killing him or just deciding that it doesn’t matter. Not that it does. The war aside, Seifer’s done quite enough to Zell in his short lifetime to warrant the other man being quite justified in wanting to put some serious hurt on him. And the look on his face says he does, he really does.

“You don’t know how much I’d love to beat you up right now,” Zell repeats, looking way too casual, and wiping the blood from his hands with the hem of his well-fitting tee-shirt. “But,” he adds, pausing for emphasis, “I don’t want you to be out of commission when I fuck you, so I’m holding back for now. I’ll give you the rest of it later.”

That cocky little smile that Zell has on his face, that grin that Seifer has seen a million times before - before and after and during fights, crooked and dripping blood - suddenly goes straight to Seifer’s cock, and the gleam in Zell’s eyes says that he knows it. “You got five minutes to catch your breath,” Zell declares, flicking his tongue out over his lower lip just quickly enough to make Seifer pray to god that the next five minutes go by fast enough.

 

The Tame and The Wild / word count: 487

“Blonde or brunette?”

“Brunette,” Seifer answered.

“Okay. Short or tall?”

“Hm... tall,” he said.

Selphie scribbled in her magazine, scratching her chin with the cap end of her glittery blue pen. “Okay,” she said again, reading down the page and marking it with a flourish. “What qualities do you prefer in a girl?”

“What?” Seifer scoffed, looking round at her. She made a face at him, clearly and inexplicably surprised that he’d only half been paying attention to her questions.

“For instance: do you like when a girl is outspoken, or more reserved?”

He pretended to think about it, and tried not to roll his eyes. “Reserved,” he finally answered.

“How about energetic or sedate?”

“Sedate.”

“Do you like a girl who’s hot and passionate, or cool and calm?”

“Cool and calm,” Seifer said, his gaze drifting across the cafeteria again. At the sound of Selphie’s triumphant laughter, he looked round. She held up the magazine to show him the results of the quiz.

“According to this,” she explained, pointing with her pen to the picture in the bottom corner of the page, “out of the three of us, Quistis is just your type. Although she’s not brunette.”

Seifer merely shrugged. He couldn’t possibly have cared less, but the more he cooperated, the faster Selphie would leave him alone. “It’s funny!” she exclaimed next, giving a little giggle as if for emphasis. “Considering that you and Rinoa used to _date_ , who’d think Quisty’s actually more your type?!”

Neither Quistis nor Rinoa, nor Selphie, for that matter, were at all Seifer’s type, but telling her that wouldn’t accomplish anything; neither did he put much stock in silly compatibility quizzes garnered from magazines marketed to teenage girls. Selphie was a few years past being a teenage girl - in age, at least - but she still couldn’t help falling prey to anything that had her picture on the cover, which meant that every few months Seifer, and every other male within Selphie’s line of vision, had to suffer through her silly matchmaking girlishness.

To tell the truth, Seifer didn’t mind _that_ much. At least it threw her off the scent.

She chattered for a moment more and then bounded off, leaving Seifer to finish what he’d been doing before she arrived: undressing Zell with his eyes from across the room. Squall and Irvine being the pretty boys that they were, Zell didn’t tend to feature in the media as much as he might, being one of the six most famous people in the world, but Seifer was quite okay with that; he didn’t need the rest of the world gawking at topless photos of his boyfriend or analyzing Zell’s every move and deciding that it was odd that he hadn’t had a girlfriend in three years. Zell was - mostly - all his, and that was quite how Seifer preferred it.

 

One, Two / word count: 666

By the time they meet again, Seifer can tell that Zell has forgotten.

“Long time no see, asshole.”

It’s clear by the look on his face, the lack of amusement. There’s recognition, but nothing more. No sparkle. That tight little grin on Zell’s face is for fighting and nothing more. “Nice to see you too, chicken-wuss. Miss me?”

“Yeah, like you’re gonna bait me. I been waitin’ a long time to see your ass again, Almasy.”

Seifer doesn’t reply and waits to see if Zell will advance. The street is dark and empty and if it were five years ago, he’d drag Zell by his shirt into some dark little niche and fuck him senseless, just to prove he still could. As things stand now, he’d probably just get his face rearranged for attempting it. Five years and a handful of GFs have helped Zell to forget how hard he used to be for Seifer’s dick, nights spent together in the dark wilderness gloom of the training center or the back of someone’s car in the garage, hoping no one would stumble upon them, half-liking the thrill.

“Well, if that’s all,” Seifer says, stuffing his hands into his pockets. Zell, still at a distance on the other side of the sidewalk, gives him a dirty look.

“No that ain’t all,” he snarls. His body jerks forward, as though he wants to move but he stops himself. It’s a strange, awkward motion, and he looks as confused by it as Seifer is.

“What are you doing here?” he asks. Zell doesn’t seem to know how to answer, looking unsure, and Seifer tries really hard not to feel hopeful. Clearly Zell came here to beat the shit out of him, but something is stopping him; Seifer wants to believe that that something has to do with some memory, some shadow of the feelings Zell used to have for him lingering in the back of his mind somewhere. He doesn’t know if he has the strength.

“I heard they let you out,” Zell starts, and then trails off uncertainly. Seifer suddenly smiles, the unfamiliar sensation of relief flooding him, warm and heavy. He takes a few steps toward Zell, who flinches backward, but still doesn’t move. Only when he is nearly upon him does Zell start to turn, as if to run, but Seifer catches him by the wrist and he doesn’t make any sort of struggle to free himself.

“What are you doing?” Zell growls. He raises his free hand and makes a fist, but Seifer isn’t worried about getting hit anymore. He’s taken more than his share of beatings from the other man over the years, but in any case, he doesn’t expect Zell to hit him, even if the martial artist looks like he desperately wants to. He leans in close to Zell, his face inches away, and he doesn’t miss the way Zell’s gaze flits down to his lips and then up again.

He grins, which seems to make Zell uneasy. There’s something still in there.

“Have a drink with me, chicken,” Seifer proposes. Zell yanks his arm out of Seifer’s grasp, and takes a few unsteady steps backward, sneering.

“Why would I wanna drink with you?”

Seifer shrugs, as if it doesn’t really matter, enjoying Zell’s obvious bemusement at the peculiar direction the conversation is taking. Zell may not remember what they had, the trysts, years of sneaking around and playacting, pretending to hate each other, it getting harder and harder over time. But there’s something still in there; Seifer can see it in the way Zell moves, the way his body is conditioned to want Seifer’s, the way he can’t keep himself from checking out Seifer’s ass as he turns around and leads the way to his favorite dive bar.

“Yeah, I could use a drink,” Zell is saying from behind him, making excuses to himself. “I’m definitely gonna beat the shit out of you later, though.”

“Whatever you say, chicken.”

 

 


	6. Twist the Knife

7/2014

 

Zell knocks twice before slipping stealthily through the door into Seifer’s dorm. “I came to visit ya,” he announces; Seifer, sprawled across the sofa with a book, doesn’t even look up.

“I’m surprised you have the time,” he replies coolly, “being a big important SeeD and all…”

“Don’t be like that. What do you think?” Zell asks, and he does a little turn to show off his uniform, which is so new that the creases are still sharp. Seifer does look up at him now, and his eyes roam up and down Zell’s figure with a sense of appreciation.

“You look good.”

Zell beams, and trots over to settle down on the little patch of space on the couch not being taken up by Seifer’s too-long form. “I gave Instructor Trepe the slip,” he says with a mischievous look. “I won’t be missed for a little bit. Thought I’d come and check on you.”

“Do I need checking on?” is Seifer’s reply, and he shuts his book and drops it to the floor. Zell leans down, a little closer to him.

“Just thought you might want some cheering up. Plus, that party’s god awful boring without you there.”

Seifer lets a grin steal onto his face at that remark. He reaches up to hook his finger through the chain that runs across the front of Zell’s uniform, pulls the other boy toward him a bit. “The same way you cheered me up last time I failed the SeeD exam?” he murmurs before tugging Zell closer until their lips meet.

When they part, Zell is smirking, looking devious even with flushed red cheeks. “Not sure I’ve got time for _that_ ,” he says, but the look on his face says he wishes it were otherwise. Then he moves in again, stealing Seifer’s lips before he can say something smart-assed.

Seifer wonders if he _should_ say something. It is, after all, a year - almost exactly to the hour - since the first time they’d fallen together, after months of back-and-forth, sometimes flirting, sometimes fighting, always dancing around each other. Seifer remembers vividly the smell of exhaust and oil in the deserted back of the garage, not quite strong enough to cover the scent of Zell’s skin as Seifer buried his face in the other boy’s neck, Zell’s hands threaded through his hair. The quiet sound of Zell breathing his name as Seifer pressed kisses over his bruised cheekbone, thinking that maybe failing the exam wasn’t such a bad thing if it meant he could stick around for another year with Zell.

“Gonna try again next year?” Zell asks, leaning over Seifer with his hair falling into his face. Seifer reaches up to brush a golden lock away from his eyes.

“Doesn’t Garden kick you out after you fail three times?”

“Maybe SeeD’s not for you, Seif,” Zell suggests.

“You mean I’m not good enough?” Seifer says bitterly, and Xu’s words from that morning rattle around his head for a moment. “Yeah, that’s what everyone’s been telling me.”

“No, I _don’t_ mean that,” Zell replies sternly. “What I _mean_ is maybe you’re better than SeeD. Meant for something… y’know… bigger.”

“Bigger?” Seifer repeats, and Zell nods with a little grin. If it weren’t such a stupid, romantic notion, Seifer might be touched by Zell’s faith in him. He’s too naive. But he’s right about one thing: clearly Seifer isn’t cut out for SeeD. He’d regrouped after the first failure, but this time it was starting to sink in.

“As for me,” Zell continues in his cheerful tone, “I’m fine with being a grunt. But you’re smart. I think you could do a lot better than this place.”

“If you think you’re cheering me up, you’re wrong,” Seifer says, sitting up and pushing Zell off his chest. Zell’s smile crumples.

“Well, if you’re gonna be that way,” he mutters. Seifer immediately feels disappointed in himself. He doesn’t want to push Zell away - but it’s hard not to be bitter, watching Zell get ready to head back to the party that’s being held in his honor, smoothing out the wrinkles in his brand-new SeeD uniform. It’s hard not to feel like he’s let Zell down even more than himself, because Zell is childish enough to still completely believe in him.

“I’ll come back after the party’s over,” Zell says.

“You don’t have to…”

“Stop being an ass. I want to. We’re leaving first thing in the morning for assignment so I won’t be seeing you for a while,” Zell goes on, and he bends down to press another kiss to Seifer’s lips. Seifer grabs his sleeve and holds him there for a long while. This silent apology is accepted by Zell with a smile. “Wish you could come to the party,” he adds after a while. “This stuff is so _boring_. And I think Squall’s gonna make a speech.”

“Parties aren’t really my thing,” Seifer replies.

Zell grins at him, and then heads for the door, waving back at Seifer over his shoulder. The sound of the door shutting behind him seems too loud in the quiet room, and Seifer wishes he’d tried to persuade the other boy to stay. Then he lays back on the couch, and spends a long time thinking about bigger things.

 

 


	7. Presque Vu

7/2014

 

“You look familiar to me,” someone says to Seifer as he goes up to the bar for another drink.

“I get told that a lot,” Seifer replies.

“I saw you across the way and I thought maybe I knew you. But I’m almost certain I don’t,” the stranger tells him. Seifer sets his glass on the counter and turns to look at him.

“Is that a pick-up? You’re not a good flirt,” he says with a smirk. The other guy, a short blond in a black tee-shirt, leans on the counter and gives Seifer a grin of his own in return.

“I’m not flirting. If I was flirting, I’d tell you you’re gorgeous. Which you are,” he adds, taking a sip of his drink. “But I wasn’t flirting, anyway. My name’s Zell.”

“Seifer,” he introduces himself, and holds out his hand for Zell to shake. Zell does so enthusiastically, and Seifer takes a moment to check him out, really check him out. He’s easily the best-looking guy in the place, besides Seifer himself, of course. He might be half a foot shorter than Seifer but he’s built, and he’s got the bluest eyes Seifer has ever seen; he is thoroughly adorable.

“So are you a local or what?”

“No, I’m not,” Seifer answers. The bartender comes their way and he orders another drink, and then he adds to Zell, “neither are you, I take it?”

Zell follows the line of his gaze to the tattoo in Balambese on the inside of his forearm. “Naw, I’m from Balamb,” Zell replies, chuckling. “Just on holiday.”

“What’s it say?” Seifer asks, referring to the tattoo.

“It’s a secret.”

“Hmm,” Seifer says, and he takes a drink after the bartender deposits a new glass in front of him. “I like this one,” he remarks a moment later, pointing at the sharp black lines that decorate the left side of Zell’s face. He imagines tracing the design with his tongue, and wonders if Zell’s got any more.

“Thanks, it’s my favorite. Where are you from?”

“Galbadia. Timber,” Seifer answers.

“And what do you do there?” Zell prompts. He’s sipping his drink, leaning casually against the bar, but Seifer isn’t blind; he’s being checked out just as much as he’s blatantly checking the other man out. Zell isn’t interested in his story; he’s just working his way toward the part of the conversation where he can slip in a proposition. Seifer doesn’t usually bother with the runaround - if he wants someone, he’s got no problem saying it; but then, it has been a while since he’s had a good flirt, and with a guy of Zell’s caliber. So maybe he’ll let it drag out a bit.

“I work at Garden. I’m an instructor,” Seifer says in response to the question. Zell’s smile grows.

“No shit! I’m a SeeD at Balamb,” he says, which surprises Seifer a little - only because Zell doesn’t have the look of a SeeD, but maybe Balamb SeeDs are different; all the ones he knows at Galbadia Garden are sort of prim and proper, whereas Zell, with his sun-bleached hair and golden tanned skin that Seifer is just dying to taste, looks like he’d be more at home on the beach. “What do you teach?”

“Weapons. I’m a gunblade specialist.”

“And here I was thinking you couldn’t be any more sexy,” Zell says, eyes twinkling.

They both fall silent for a few moments, drinking. Zell appears thoughtful. “You didn’t take the exam in Balamb, though?” he says after a bit. “I’d definitely remember you if you did.”

“I took it in Galbadia.”

“Huh. I’d have pegged you as older than me.”

“Don’t be so sure,” Seifer says. “I was twenty when I took it. It was the first year Galbadia Garden offered the exam.”

Zell spends a moment doing the math in his head. “So you are older than me, then,” he concludes, smiling a little. “How’d you swing that? They don’t cut off the exam at nineteen there?”

“I got an exemption, or something,” Seifer replies with a shrug. It was eight years ago and he doesn’t remember much about it, and to be honest he’d rather be talking about something else, even if Zell does seem interested. “Probably something to do with the war. Galbadia Garden was desperate for students just after that.”

“Ah, yeah,” Zell agrees, nodding. He falls silent again. Most people Seifer has ever met who were around during the last war have a sort of unspoken agreement to not talk about it, and Zell is evidently not exempt from this. He’s staring at Seifer’s face now, and after a pause, he says, “is that your souvenir, then? From the war?”

He points at the scar that runs down Seifer’s face, a three-inch gash between his eyes. “No, I had it before,” Seifer explains. “Training accident.”

“Must be an occupational hazard of swinging around a big fuck-off sword,” Zell says playfully, and Seifer _might_ think about being offended if he weren’t so goddamn cute. “I know a guy with a scar.”

“Got any yourself?”

“I bet you’d like to see,” Zell says coolly, throwing down the last of his drink and pushing the empty glass toward the back of the counter. Then he puts both his hands flat on the bar, and gives a little nod that Seifer interprets as an indication to move closer. He takes a step toward the other man, and stops just short of pressing himself up against Zell; the bar isn’t that crowded that it could be passed off as an accident.

“You’re a martial artist,” Seifer says, looking down at Zell’s hands, which are riddled with scars; not a one of his fingers isn’t crooked, as if they’d all been broken at least once, and his knuckles have the look of having been skinned more times than he probably knows. Seifer allows himself a few seconds to imagine having those hands on him, those fingertips digging into his skin, battle-scarred palm curled around his dick. He definitely wants Zell. He doesn’t remember the last time he was so immediately attracted to someone.

“Best in my field,” Zell declares proudly.

“Bet you’re good with your hands.”

Zell gives him a sly smirk. “Best in my field,” he repeats, his tone a little deeper.

The bartender passes by, and Zell declines another drink. Seifer still has half of his left but he’s done with this scene already; all he wants at the moment is to take Zell somewhere private and fuck him absolutely senseless for the rest of the night. If he’s not mistaken - and he rarely is - Zell’s expression is saying the same thing. “How long are you in town?” Seifer asks.

“We’re leaving tomorrow. What about you?”

“Wednesday,” he answers.

“Well, my hotel’s just up the road,” Zell mentions casually, managing to make the comment seem both innocent and totally devious at the same time. “If you’re…” he trails off.

“If I’m what?”

“Interested,” Zell adds, grinning. He can obviously tell that Seifer is interested.

“Let’s go,” is Seifer’s reply.

They wind their way through the crowded room and make it to the fresh air outside. It’s Saturday night and there are a lot of people out in the street. Zell tells him it’s about five blocks, and they start walking. Seifer tries to remember the last time he had a really good fuck - a _really_ good one - and he can’t. But he has a feeling, so strong that he’d be willing to bet on it, that Zell is going to be good.

They’ve only walked about two blocks before Zell stops suddenly, looking around. “Lost?” Seifer asks.

“No,” the other man says, sounding distracted. Seifer hopes he’s not reconsidering this idea, when Zell grabs his arm and pulls him down a narrow side street between two buildings. He hardly has time to be bewildered before Zell is shoving him up against a wall behind a stack of boxes and kissing him hard. He’s strong, and Seifer likes it. He lets Zell hold him against the wall but he doesn’t give over control of the kiss, enjoying the fight Zell puts up, his tongue pushing against Seifer’s, his teeth sharp against Seifer’s lips.

“I just couldn’t wait,” Zell says breathlessly a few minutes later, when it becomes necessary to stop for air.

 “No complaints from me,” Seifer replies, feeling light-headed.

“Did I mention you’re gorgeous?”

“Might’ve done, yeah.”

“I can’t wait to see your dick,” Zell breathes, grinding his hips against Seifer’s thigh, which is trapped between his own. His hands are fisted in the front of Seifer’s shirt and Seifer is a little worried he’s going to tear it, but mainly that he’s going to do it before they get to the hotel because he couldn’t care less about anything but that at the moment. “I can’t decide if I want to suck it or just ride you until you cry,” Zell remarks.

Seifer has to take a breath before he can form a response. “Well, it’s still early,” he says, grabbing Zell’s ass with both hands and thrusting his hips against the smaller man’s. “Probably time for both.”

“Are you sure we’ve not met before?” Zell asks suddenly.

“Positive. I wouldn’t forget anyone as adorable as you.”

“Ad- wh-“ Zell sputters. “I’m not _adorable_!”

“You’re absolutely the cutest fucking thing I’ve ever seen,” Seifer says teasingly, spurred on by Zell’s over-the-top offense at the compliment. He might be pushing it, but he somehow doubts that Zell is _really_ offended - he’d never have got through twenty-some-odd years of life if he got up in arms every time someone called him cute - and it feels too easy to tease him for Seifer to resist. “How much further to your hotel?”

“Not far,” Zell says, huffing a little, his cheeks red; but he responds enthusiastically when Seifer leans in to nip at his lips again, still holding him close.

“Can we get going then? Not that this isn’t lovely,” Seifer says, nodding at the dark, somewhat dank alley all round them, “if you’re into that sort of thing, personally my standards are a bit higher-“

“You’re kind of a smartass,” Zell mentions, but his grin says he likes it. He steps back, putting some space between them, and pulls at the front of Seifer’s coat to lead him back into the street. Then they make their way the last two and a half blocks to Zell’s hotel at a rather quicker pace, where Zell shoves him into a fairly nice king suite and does just what he said he would, and a whole lot more, keeping Seifer well occupied until the early hours of the morning.

Seifer’s curiosity is finally sated later when he gets to take an inventory of all of Zell’s tattoos, including the tribal patterns on his calves, the one that covers his right shoulder, and the mandala design right between his shoulderblades, which Seifer traces slowly with his tongue as he fucks Zell deeply from behind, pressing him up against the headboard.

He doesn’t intend to stay the whole night, but he falls asleep next to Zell, and only when Zell’s mobile phone starts chirping from the bedside table late in the morning do either of them stir. Zell swats at it and knocks it to the floor, along with half a dozen condom wrappers, and he leans over the edge of the bed to retrieve it. “Woops,” he says groggily, looking adorably half-asleep, the tattooed side of his face covered with pillow lines.

Seifer is already alert, sitting up and looking round the room for his clothes, which form a trail across the room from the door to the bed. He slides out of bed while Zell is occupied with his phone and starts to gather his things; he’s not in any terrible rush to leave, and there’s none of the usual awkwardness that sometimes comes with waking up next to a total stranger, but he probably shouldn’t have stayed the night anyway. Although if Zell had no objection, Seifer wouldn’t mind continuing this interlude into the day - but Zell’s next words cut that idea off.

“My friends are waiting for me,” he mumbles into the pillow, not sounding at all awake. “I was supposed to meet them for brunch, I forgot. Am I a terrible person?”

“So you overslept. Big deal,” Seifer says, shrugging. Zell actually looks not the least bit concerned with the fact that he’s late; he throws his phone carelessly onto the now-empty side of the bed where Seifer had been, and sits up.

“Oh, I’m not fussed about them at all. If they have to wait for me, it just gives them an excuse to sit at the hotel bar and drink mimosas,” he replies, stretching, and giving Seifer a lovely view of the fingerprint-shaped bruises scattered across his upper arms. “Do you want a shower before you go?”

“With you in it, or without?”

Zell grins, and says cheekily, “With, of course.”

They manage to take a relatively short shower, despite the fact that the suite’s bathroom is practically _made_ for fooling around in - the shower is huge and luxurious, and the whirlpool bathtub is calling Seifer’s name - and as he’s drying off, a quarter hour later, Seifer remarks, “it’s too bad you’re not going to be in town longer.”

“You can look me up if you ever make your way to Balamb,” Zell says with a smirk, rubbing his hair with a big fluffy hotel towel.

“Maybe I’ll take my next vacation there.”

“Shall I give you my number?” Zell asks as they’re getting dressed, him in a fresh tee-shirt and jeans from out of his suitcase, and Seifer in his clothes from the night before; the front of his shirt is still stretched out where Zell had yanked on it.

“Probably not necessary,” Seifer replies; because really, how many short, tattooed SeeDs named Zell could there be in Balamb? He’s just about to leave, checking his pockets to make sure he hasn’t forgotten anything, when there’s a knock on the door, and Zell looks up from the suitcase he’s haphazardly cramming things into.

“That’s probably my friend.”

Seifer opens the door, and on the other side is a gorgeous blonde woman in a red sundress, who looks totally surprised at his appearance. “Oh, sorry,” she says, looking confused. “I think maybe I have the wrong room?”

“You looking for Zell?”

“Yes,” she says, frowning.

“Then you’ve got the right room,” he tells her, and steps around her into the hallway. She looks slightly bewildered, and doesn’t go into the room, but stands there and stares at him for a long moment.

Seifer crosses the hall and presses the button for the elevator. Behind him, he can hear Zell and the woman talking as Zell starts bringing his luggage out into the corridor.

“Sorry, Quisty, I could swear I had my alarm set but then I overslept-“

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it,” she replies. “Who was that?”

“Someone I met,” is Zell’s answer, and there is a short pause. “Why do you ask?”

“Oh, nothing,” the woman says. “I just thought… no, it’s nothing.”

“Don’t tell me you started fancying men again?”

The woman sputters something in response, sounding indignant, but Seifer doesn’t hear what her reply is; he gets on the elevator and the doors shut, cutting off the rest of their conversation.

 

 


	8. Knights in Black Leather

9/2015

 

 

“Fancy meeting you here, chicken-wuss.”

Zell bristled a little as someone came rolling toward him in the deserted parking lot on a bike, pulling off their helmet - someone unpleasantly familiar. Of course - if anyone were going to come across him stranded and alone in the middle of _fucking nowhere_ , it couldn’t be one of his friends, could it? It had to be that jerk that Rinoa had dated a few years back.

“What are you doing out here all alone?” the guy asked, while Zell struggled to remember his name - right, Seifer, that was it. “Oh, I get it,” Seifer went on, grinning, “too afraid to cross the road, right?”

The asshole had to make bad jokes, too. “I’m waiting for the bus,” Zell grumbled, hitching his backpack up higher on his shoulders.

Seifer looked down the road. “I think you missed it,” he said, like Zell didn’t obviously know that.

“I mean I’m waiting for the next one.”

“Gonna be waiting a long time. It’s almost dark.”

That was true, but Zell wasn’t going to acknowledge it with a response. He didn’t even know if there was a next bus - he certainly hadn’t figured the one he was on would just drive off without him; he’d only been inside the mini-mart for a couple of minutes.

“Want a ride?” Seifer asked, leaning forward over the handlebars.

“What?”

“A ride. Do you want one? I’m going to Balamb. Not going any further than that, though.”

“Why?” Zell asked suspiciously. He had never pegged Seifer as a nice guy - not that they know each other all that well; their paths had only crossed a few times when he and Rinoa dated, years back. But he’d certainly always _seemed_ like an asshole.

“If we’re going in the same direction, I might as well,” Seifer said with a shrug. Then he grinned. “Plus, I’d feel like kind of a shithead if I just left a poor defenseless chickie like you here all by yourself. Some creep might come along and try to take advantage of you.”

Zell considered punching the other man in the face real quick just to show him how poor and defenseless he was, but he stifled the impulse, and instead said, “some other creep besides you, you mean?”

“Suit yourself,” Seifer replied, and went to put his helmet back on, but Zell’s quick “wait!” made him pause.

“Uhh… a ride’d be great. If you’re serious,” Zell admitted, a little grudgingly, but not too much because, really, Seifer did just ride up like a knight in black leather to save him. “I can pay you or whatever. For gas.”

“Your short ass doesn’t even weigh enough to make a dent. Just climb on,” Seifer said, handing the helmet to Zell as he awkwardly slid onto the back seat of the motorcycle. He was already kind of regretting this; the prospect of spending the next couple of hours on the back of a bike clinging to Seifer was unappealing, to say the least. He tried not to feel embarrassed about it as he put the helmet on and wrapped his arms around Seifer’s waist.

It wasn’t as bad as he thought, though, and by the time they pulled over at a rest stop about an hour outside of town, Zell was pretty much over his irritation at the whole stupid situation and disposed to be fairly grateful to Seifer. “So what’re you going to Balamb for?” Zell asked conversationally. “You’re not from here, right?”

“On holiday,” Seifer replied, chugging a soda and handing one to Zell, as well. “I’m returning Rinoa’s bike. Then taking the train back.”

“This is Rin’s bike?” Zell repeated, looking down.

“Did you think the decals were mine?”

Zell hadn’t really paid any attention to the big, pink, sparkly angel wings that adorned the front end of the black bike; his focus had been more on the other rider and the strange but quite nice feeling of Seifer’s hard abs under Zell’s hands.

“Come on, we’re almost there,” Seifer said, and Zell was less reluctant this time to climb back on the seat behind him. “You can sit further up, you know. You’re going to fly off the back end if you keep trying so hard not to touch me.”

The other man was smirking, and Zell grinned a little, too. “Doesn’t make you uncomfortable?” he said, scooting forward, pressing against Seifer’s back.

“I can deal with it,” Seifer replied, but he was still smiling. “Put your helmet on.”

It was late when they got into town, and Zell directed Seifer toward his place. “Hey, thanks, Seifer,” he said as they came to a stop in front of Zell’s apartment building. “Really… uh… I owe you one.”

“Don’t sweat it.”

“I kind of used to think you were an asshole. Up until now, y’know.”

“You wouldn’t be wrong,” Seifer said, taking his helmet back from Zell as he dismounted. He nodded up toward the building in front of them. “That your place?”

“Yeah.”

“You got a roommate?”

“No, just me,” Zell replied, and smirked. “Why, are you looking for one?”

“No. Just wondering if you’re gonna invite me up, seeing as you do owe me one and I’ve got no place to stay for tonight.”

Zell couldn’t tell if the other man was joking or not - his tone was teasing, almost flirty, but his expression was serious. Zell said, “I haven’t got a spare room or anything, but you’re welcome to the couch if you want it.”

“I’m fine with sharing the bed, chickie,” was Seifer’s reply, definitely flirting. Zell bit back a smile.

“I’ve got a name, you know.”

“I know you do. _Zell_ ,” Seifer muttered, quiet and deep, and Zell felt a shiver run through him. “I like it. Gonna really like _screaming_ it later.”

“You had to take it there, huh?”

“Well, I wasn’t sure you were getting the hint,” the other man said, grinning now. “Guess you’re not just a dumb blond after all, are you?”

Zell would like to make some kind of witty rejoinder about the fact that Seifer is just as blond as he is, but then Seifer was kissing him, hot breath and rough grasping hands pulling Zell forward and soft, stifled sounds that made his knees buckle. When they finally parted, snarky comebacks were the last thing on Zell’s mind - and Seifer’s maddeningly smug expression said he knew it, too.

“So, is that a yes on the bed invite? Or the couch, or… whatever. I’m not picky,” he murmured, face still close to Zell’s, lips tantalizingly brushing.

“Well, I mean, you did give me a ride. Seems only fair I should, uh… return the favor, right?”

 

 


End file.
